REESE  LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


I  m 


I  '\ 


DAVID    ELGINBROD 


GEORGE   MAC   DONALD,  M.A., 

AUTHOR   OP   "annals    OF   A   QUIET   NEIGHBORHOOD,"  "THE   SEABOARD 
PARISH,"    *'ALEG   FORBES    OF   HOWGLEN,"    "GUILD   COURT,"   ETC. 


' '  And  gladly  toolde  he  lerne  and  gladly  teche." 

CHArCEB, 


OHING^,    Publisher, 

CoR.  Bromfield  and  Washington  Streets, 
BOSTON. 


rnvin  1 1'lioiograiili] 


(iKoRc, K  Mac  Don'Ali 


liy  Mc-sr^,  Flllott  and  Fry 


U1TIVERSIT7 
DAVID    ELGINBROD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    FIR-WOOD. 

.     Of  all  the  flowers  in  the  mead, 
Then  love  I  most  these  flowers  white  and  redo, 
Such  that  men  oallen  daisies  in  our  town. 

I  renne  blithe 
As  soon  as  ever  the  sun  ginnoth  west, 
To  see  this  flower,  how  it  will  go  to  rest, 
For  fear  of  night,  so  hateth  she  darkness; 
Her  cheer  is  plainly  spread  in  the  brightness 
Of  the  suuue,  for  there  it  will  unclose. 

Chaucer.  —  Prologue  to  the  Legend  jf  Good  Women. 

"  Meg  !  whaur  are  ye  gaein'  that  get,  like  a  wuU  shuttle? 
Come  in  to  the  beuk." 

Meg's  mother  stood  at  the  cottage  door,  with  arms  akimbo, 
and  clouded  brow,  calling  through  the  boles  of  a  little  forest 
of  fir-trees  after  her  daughter.  One  would  naturally  pre- 
sume that  the  phrase  she  employed,  comparing  her  daughter's 
motions- to  those  of  a  shuttle  that  had  "  gane  wull,"  or  lost  its 
way,  implied  that  she  was  watching  her  as  she  threaded  her 
way  through  the  trees.  But,  although  she  could  not  see  her, 
the  fir-wood  was  certainly  the  likeliest  place  for  her  daughter 
to  be  in  ;  and  the  figure  she  employed  was  not  in  the  least  in- 
applicable to  Meg's  usual  mode  of  wandering  through  the 
trees,  that  operation  being  commonly  performed  in  the  most 
erratic  manner  possible.  It  was  the  ordinary  occupation  of 
the  first  hour  of  almost  every  day  of  Margaret's  life.       Aa 

m?5 


4  DAVID    ELGINCROD. 

soCyii  as  she  woke  in  the  morning,  the  fir-wood  drew  her  to- 
wards it,  and  she  rose  and  went.  Through  its  cro)vd  of  idcndor 
piHars  she  stnijcd  hither  and  thither,  in  an  aimless  manner, 
as  if  resignedly  haunting  the  neighborhood  of  something  she 
had  lost,  or,  hopefully,  that  of  a  treasure  she  expected  one  day 
to  find. 

It  did  not  soem  that  she  had  heard  her  mother's  call,  for 
no  response  followed ;  and  Janet  Elginbrod  returned  into  the 
cott:ige,  where  David,  of  the  same  surname,  who  Avas  already 
seated  at  the  white  deal  table  with  "the  beuk,"  or  large 
family  Bible,  before  him,  straightway  commenced  reading  a 
cliapter  in  tlie  usual  routine  from  the  Old  Testament,  the  New 
being  reserved  for  the  evening  devotions.  The  chapter  was 
the  fortieth  of  the  prophet  Isaiah  ;  and  as  the  voice  of  the 
reader  reuttered  the  words  of  old  inspiration,  one  might  have 
thought  that  it  was  the  voice  of  the  ancient  prophet  himself, 
pouring  forth  the  expression  of  his  own  faith  in  bis  expostula- 
tions with  the  unbelief  of  his  brethren.  The  chapter  finished 
—  it  is  none  of  the  shortest,  and  Meg  had  not  yet  returned  — 
the  two  knelt,  and  David  prayed  thus  :  — - 

"  0  Thoa  who  boldest  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  ae  han', 
ind  carriest  the  lambs  o'  thy  own  making  in  thy  bosom  with 
the  other  han',  it  would  be  altogether  unworthy  o'  thee,  and 
o'  thy  Maijesty  o'  love,  to  require  o'  us  that  which  thou 
knowcst  we  cannot  bring  unto  thee,  until  thou  enrich  us  with 
that  same.  Therefore,  like  thine  own  bairns,  we  boo  doon 
afore  thee,  an'  pray  that  thou  wouldst  tak  thy  wull  o'  us,  thy 
holy,  an'  perfect,  an'  blessed  wull  o'  us ;  for,  0  God,  we  are 
a'  thine  ain.  An'  for  oor  lassie,  wha's  oot  amo'  thy  trees,  an' 
wha  Ave  dinna  think  forgets  her  Maker,  though  she  may  whiles 
forget  her  prayers,  Lord,  keep  her  a  bonnie  lassie  in  thy  sicht, 
as  white  an'  clean  in  thy  een  as  she  is  fair  an'  halesome  in 
oors ;  an'  oh  !  Ave  thank  thee,  Father  in  heaven,  for  giein'  her 
to  us.  An'  noo,  for  a'  oor  Avrang-duins  an'  ill-min'ins,  for  a' 
oor  sins  an'  trespasses  o'  mony  sorts,  dinna  forget  them,  0 
God,  till  thou  pits  them  a'  richt,  an'  syne  exerceese  thy  michty 
power  e'en  OAver  thine  ain  sel',  an'  clean  forget  them  a'the- 
gither  ;  cast  them  ahint  thy  back,  Avhaur  e'en  thine  ain  een 
shall  ne'er  see  them  again,  that  aa^c  may  Avalk  bold  an'  upricht 
afore  thee  for  evermore,  an'   see  the  face  o'   Ilim  wha  Avas  a 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  5 

muckle  God  in  doin'  thy  biddin',  as  gin  he  bad  been  orderin' 
a'  thing  himsel'.      For  his  sake,  Ahmen." 

I  hope  mj  readers  will  not  suppose  that  I  give  this  as  a 
specimen  of  Scotch  prayers.  I  know  better  than  that.  David 
was  an  unusual  man,  and  his  prayers  were  unusual  prayers. 
The  present  was  a  little  more  so  in  its  style,  from  the  fiict 
that  one  of  the  subjects  of  it  was  absent,  a  circumstance  that 
rarely  happened.  But  the  degree  of  diiFerence  was  too  small 
to  be  detected  by  any  but  those  who  were  quite  accustomed  to 
his  forms  of  thought  and  expression.  How  much  of  it  Janet 
understood  or  sympathized  with  it  is  difficult  to  say ;  for  any- 
thing that  could  be  called  a  thought  rarely  crossed  the  thresh- 
old of  her  utterance.  On  this  occasion,  at  the  moment  the 
prayer  was  ended,  she  rose  from  her  knees,  smootiied  down  her 
check  apron,  and  .went  to  the  door,  where,  shading  her  eyes 
from  the.  blinding  sun  with  her  hand,  she  peered  from  under 
its  penthouse  into  the  fir-wood,  and  said,  in  a  voice  softeneJ 
apparently  by  the  exercise  in  which  she  had  taken  a  silent 
share :  — 

"  Whaur  can  the  lassie  be?'' 

And  where  was  the  lassie?  In  the  fir-wood,  to  be  sure, 
with  the  thousand  shadows,  and  the  sunlight  throu2;h  it  all : 
for  at  this  moment  the  light  fell  upon  her  far  in  its  depth-;,  and 
revealed  her  hastening  towards  the  cotta2;e  in  as  straight  a 
line  as  the  trees  would  permit,  now  blotted  out  by  a  crossing 
shadow,  and  anon  radiant  in  the  sunlight,  appearing  and 
vanishing  as  she  threaded  the  upright  warp  of  the  fir-wood. 
It  was  morning  all  around  her  ;  and  one  might  see  that  it  was 
morning  within  her  too,  as,  emerging  at  last  in  the  small  open 
space  around  the  cottage,  Margaret  —  I  cannot  call  her  Meg^ 
although  her  mother  does — her  father  always  called  her 
"Maggy,  my  doo,''  Anglice,  dove  —  Margaret  approached  her 
mother  with  a  bright,  healthful  fixce,  and  the  least  possible 
expression  of  unea,siness  on  her  fair  forehead.  She  carried  a 
book  in  her  hand. 

"  What  gars  ye  gang  stravaguin'  that  get,  Meg,  whan  ye 
ken  weel  aneuch  ye  sud  a'  been  in  to  worship  lang  syne  ?  An' 
sae  we  maun  hae  worship  our  lanes  for  want  o'  you,  ye 
hizzy!  " 

"  I  didna  ken  it  was  sae  late,  mither,"  i-eplied  Margaret,  in 


6  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

a  submissivo  tone,  musical  in  spite  of  the  rugged  dialect  into 
which  the  sounds  were  fashioned. 

'•Nae  dout !  Ye  had  jer  brakfast.  an'  ye  warna  that 
hungry  for  the  word.  But  here  comes  yer  father,  an'  ye' 11 
no  mend  for  his  fly  tin',  Ise  promise." 

"Hoots!  lat  the  bairn  alane,  Janet,  my  woman.  The 
word"  11  be  mair  to  her  afore  lang."' 

"  I  Avat  she  has  a  word  o'  her  nain  there.  What  beuk  hae 
ye  gotten  there,  Meg?     Whaur  got  ye't?  " 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  handsome  binding  of  the  book  in  her 
daughter's  hand,  it  would  neither  have  caught  her  eye,  nor 
roused  the  suspicions  of  Janet.  David  glanced  at  the  book  in 
his  turn,  and  a  faint  expression  of  surprise,  embodied  chiefly 
in  the  opening  of  his  eyelids  a  little  wider  than  usual,  crossed 
his  face.      But  he  only  said  with  a  smile :  — 

"  I  didna  ken  that  the  tree  o'  knowledge,  wi'  sic  fair  fruit, 
grew  in  our  wud,  Maggy,  my  doo." 

"  Whaur  gat  ye  the  beuk?  "  reiterated  Janet. 

Margaret's  face  was  by  this  time  the  color  of  the  crimson 
boards  of  the  volume  in  her  hand,  but  she  replied  at  once :  — 

"  I  got  it  frae  Maister  Sutherlan',  I  reckon." 

Janet's  first  response  was  an  inverted  whistle ;  her  next, 
another  question :  — 

"  Maister  Sutherlan'  !  wha's  that  o't?  " 

"  Hoot,  lass  !  "  interposed  David,  "ye  ken  weel  aneuch. 
It's  the  new  tutor  lad  up  at  the  hoose ;  a  fine,  douce,  honest 
chieLl,  an'  weel-faured,  forby.     Lat's  see  the  bit  beuky,  lassie." 

Margaret  handed  it  to  her  father. 

"  '  Col  e-ridge's  Poems,'  "  read  David,  with  some  diflSculty. 

"  Tak'  it  hame  direckly,"  said  Janet. 

"  Na,  na,"  said  David ;  "  a'  the  apples  o'  the  tree  o'  knowl- 
edge are  no  stappit  wi'  sut  an  stew;_  an'  gin  this  ane  be,  she'll 
sune  ken  by  the  taste  o't  what's  comin'.  It's  no  muckle  o'  an 
ill  beuk  'at  ye'll  read,  Maggie,  my  doo." 

"  Guid  preserve's,  man  !  I'm  no  sayin'  it's  an  ill  beuk.  Bat 
it's  no  riclit  to  make  appintments  wi'  stranger  lads  i'  the  wud 
sae  ear'  i'  the  mornin'.     Is't  noo,  yersel'  Meg  ?  " 

"  Mither  !  mither !  "  said  Margaret,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
through  the  watery  veil  that  tried  to  hide  them,  "  hoo  can  ye? 
Ye  ken  yersel  I  had  nae  appintmcnt  wi'  him  or  ony  man." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  7 

"  Weel,  weel !  "  said  Janet ;  and  apparently  either  satisfied 
with,  or  overcome  by,  the  emotion  she  had  excited,  she  turned 
and  went  in  to  pursue  her  usual  house  avocations ;  while 
David,  handing  the  the  book  to  his  daughter,  went  away  down 
the  path  that  led  from  the  cottage  door,  in  the  direction  of  a 
road  to  be  seen  at  a  little  distance  through  the  trees,  which 
yurrounded  the  cottage  on  all  sides.  Margaret  followed-  her 
mother  into  the  cottage,  and  was  soon  as  busy  as  she  with  her 
share  of  the  duties  of  the  household ;  but  it  was  a  good 
many  minutes  before  the  cloud  caused  by  her  mother's  hasty 
words  entirely  disappeared  from  a  forehead  which  might  with 
especial  justice  be  called  the  sky  of  her  face. 

Meantime  David  emerged  upon  the  more  open  road,  and 
bent  his  course,  still  through  fir-trees,  towards  a  house  for 
whose  sake  alone  the  road  seemed  to  have  been  constructed. 


CHAPTER  II. 

DAVID    ELGINBROD    AND    THE   NEW   TUTOR. 

.        .         .         Concord  between  our  wit  and  will, 
Where  highest  notes  to  godliness  are  raised, 
And  lowest  sink  not  down  to  jot  of  ill. 

What  Languetus  taught  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 

The  Arcadia  —  Third  Eclogue. 

The  House  of  Turriepufiit  stood  about  a  furlong  from  Da- 
vid's cottage.  It  was  the  abode  of  the  Laird,  or  landed  proprie- 
tor, in  Avhose  employment  David  filled  several  ofiices  ordinarily 
distinct.  The  estate  was  a  small  one,  and  almost  entirely 
farmed  by  the  owner  himself;  who,  with  Davids  help,  man- 
aged to  turn  it  to  good  account.  Upon  week-days,  he  appeared 
on  horseback  in  a  costume  more  fitted  for  following  the  plough  ] 
but  he  did  not  work  with  his  own  hands ;  and  on  Sundays  was 
at  once  recognizable  as  a  country  gentleman. 

David  Avas  his  bailiff,  or  grieve,  to  overlook  the  laborers  on 
the  estate  ;  his  steward,  to  pay  them,  and  keep  the  fiirm  ac- 
counts ;  his  head  gardener,   for   little  labor  was  expended  in 


8  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

that  direction,  there  being  only  one  lady,  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  and  she  no  patroness  of  useless  flowers.  David  "was.  in 
fact,  the  laird's  general  adviser  and  executor. 

The  laird's  family,  besides  the  lady  already  mentioned,  con- 
sisted only  of  two  boys,  of  the  ages  of  eleven  and  fourteen, 
■\vhoni  he  wished  to  enjoy  the  same  privileges  he  had  himself 
possessed,  and  to  whom,  therefore,  he  was  giving  a  classical 
and  mathematical  education,  in  view  of  the  University,  by 
means  of  private  tutors  ;  the  last  of  whom  —  for  the  changes 
were  no't  few,  seemg  the  salary  was  of  the  smallest  —  was 
Hugh  Sutherland,  the  young  man  concerning  whom  David 
Elginbrod  has  already  given  his  opinion.  But,  notwithstand- 
ing the  freedom  he  always  granted  his  daughter,  and  his  good 
opinion  of  Hugh  as  Avell,  David  could  not  help  feeling  a  little 
aiixious,  in  his  walk  along  the  road  towards  the  house,  as  to 
wdiat  the  apparent  acquaintance  between  her  and  the  new  tutor 
might  evolve ;  but  he  got  rid  of  all  the  difficulty,  as  far  as  he 
was  concerned,  by  saying  at  last :  — 

'•  "What  richt  liae  I  to  interfere,  even  supposin'  I  wanted  to 
interfere  ?  But  I  can  lippen  weel  to  my  bonny  doo  ;  an'  for 
the  rest,  she  maun  tak'  her  chance  like  the  lave  o's.  An' 
M'ha  kens  but  it  micht  jist  be  stan'in'  afore  Him,  i'  the  very 
get  that  He  meant  to  gang.  The  Lord  forgie  me  for  speakin' 
o'  chance,  as  gin  I  believed  in  ony  sic  havers.  There's  no 
fear  o'  the  lassie.  Gude-mornin'  t'ye,  Maister  Sutherlan'. 
Tl)at's  a  braw  beuk  o'  ballants  ye  gae  the  len'  o'  to  my  Mag- 
gy, this  mornin',  sir." 

Sutherland  was  just  entering  a  side-door  of  the  house  when 
David  accosted  him.  He  was  not  old  enough  to  keep  from 
blushing  at  David's  words  ;  but,  having  a  good  conscience,  he 
was  ready  with  a  good  answer. 

"  It's  a  good  book,  Mr.  Elginbrod.  It  will  do  her  no  harm, 
though  it  be  ballads." 

"  I'm  in  no  dreed  o'  that,  sir.  Bairns  maun  hae  ballants. 
An',  to  tell  the  truth,  sir,  I'm  no  muckle  mair  nor  a  bairn  in 
that  'respeck  mysel'.  In  fac,  this  verra  mornin',  at  the  beuk, 
I  jist  thocht  I  was  readin'  a  gran'  godly  ballant,  an'  it  soundet 
luinc  the  waur  for  the  notion  o't." 

"  You  should  have  been  a  poet  yourself,  Mr.  Elginbrod." 

"  Na,  na ;  I  ken  uaething  aboot  yer  poetry.     I  hae  read 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  9 

auld  John. Milton  ov/er  an'  ower,  though  I  clinna  believe  the 
half  o't ;  but.  oh  !  weel  I  like  some  o'  the  bonnj  bitties  at  the 
en'  o't." 

"  '  i^  Penseroso,'  for  instance?  " 

"  Is  that  hoo  ye  ca't  ?  I  ken't  weel  by  the  sicht,  but  hardly 
by  the  soun'.  I  aye  missed  the  name  o't,  an'  took  to  the 
thing  itsel'.  Eh,  man!  —  I  beg  yer  pardon,  sir, — but  it's 
-/fonnerfu'  bonny  !" 

"  I'll  come  in  some  evening,  and  we'll  have  a  chat  about  it," 
replied  Sutherland.      "  I  must  go  to  my  work  now." 

"  We'll  a'  be  verra  happy  to  see  you,  sir.  Gude-mornin', 
sir." 

"  Good-morning." 

David  went  to  the  garden,  where  there  was  not  much  to  be 
done  in  the  way  of  education  at  this  season  of  the  year  ;  and 
Sutherland  to  the  school-room,  where  he  was  busy,  all  the  rest 
of  the  morning  and  part  of  the  afternoon,  with  Caesar  and  Vir- 
gil, Algebra  and  Euclid, — food  upon  which  intellectual  babes 
are  reared  to  the  stature  of  college  youths. 

Sutherland  was  himself  only  a  youth  ;  for  he  had  gone  early 
to  college,  and  had  not  yet  quite  completed  the  curriculum. 
He  was  now  filling  up  with  teaching  the  recess  between  his 
third  and  his  fourth  winter  at  one  of  the  Aberdeen  universities. 
He  was  the  son  of  an  officer,  belonging  to  the  younger  branch 
of  a  family  of  some  historic  distinction  and  considerable  wealth. 
This  officer,  though  not  far  removed  from  the  estate  and  title 
as  well,  had  nothing  to  live  upon  but  his  half-pay ;  for,  to  the 
disgust  of  his  family,  he  had  married  a  Welsh  girl  of  ancient 
descent,  in  whose  line  the  poverty  must  have  been  at  least  coe- 
val with  the  history,  to  judge  from  the  perfection  of  its  devel- 
opment in  the  case  of  her  fatlier  ;  and  his  relations  made  this 
the  excuse  for  quarrelling  with  him  ;  so  relieving  themselves 
from  any  obligation  they  might  have  been  supposed  to  lie  un- 
der, of  rendering  him  assistance  of  some  sort  or  other.  This, 
however,  rather  suited  the  temperament  of  Major  Robert  Suth- 
erland, who  was  prouder  in  his  poverty  than  they  in  their 
riches.  So  he  disowned  them  forever,  and  accommodated 
himself,  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world,  to  his  yet  move 
straitened  circumstances.  He  resolved,  however,  cost  what  it 
might  in  pinching  and  squeezing,  to  send  his  son  to  college 


© 

10  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

before  turning  him  out  to  shift  for  himself.  In  this  Mrs. 
Sutherhmd  was  ready  to  support  him  to  the  utmost ;  and  so 
they  liad  managed  to  keep  their  boj  at  college  for  three  ses- 
sions :  after  the  last  of  which,  instead  of  returning  home,  as 
he  had  done  on  previous  occasions,  he  had  looked  about  him  for 
a  temporary  engagement  as  tutor,  and  soon  found  tlie  situation 
he  now  occupied  in  the  family  of  William  Glasford.  Esq.,  of 
Turriepuffit,  where  he  intended  to  remain  no  longer  than  the 
commencement  of  the  session,  which  would  be  his  fourth  and 
last.  To  what  he  should  afterwards  devo'e  himself  he  had  by 
no  means  made  up  his  mind,  except  that  it  must  of  necessity 
be  hard  work  of  some  kind  or  other.  So  he  had  at  least  the 
virtue  of  desiring  to  be  independent.  His  other  goods  and 
bads  must  come  out  in  the  course  of  the  story.  His  pupils 
were  rather  stupid  and  rather  good-natured ;  so  that  their  tem- 
perament operated  to  confirm  their  intellectual  condition,  and 
to  render  the  labor  of  teaching  them  considerably  irksome. 
But  he  did  his  work  tolerably  well,  and  was  not  so  much  inter- 
ested in  the  result  as  to  be  p.iined  at  the  moderate  degree  of 
his  success.  At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  however,  the  prob- 
ability as  to  his  success  was  scarcely  ascertained,  for  he  had 
been  only  a  fortnight  at  the  task. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  month  of  April,  in  a  rather  back- 
ward season.  The  weather  had  been  stormy,  with  frequent 
showers  of  sleet  and  snow.  Old  Winter  was  doing  his  best  to 
hold  young  Spring  back  by  the  skirts  of  her  garment,  and  very 
few  of  the  wild  flowers  had  yet  ventured  to  look  out  of  their  warm 
beds  in  the  mould.  Sutheiland,  therefore,  iiad  made  but  few  dis- 
coveries in  the  neighborhood.  Not  that  the  weather  would 
have  kept  him  to  the  house,  had  he  had  any  particular  desire 
to  go  out ;  but,  like  many  other  students,  he  had  no  predilec- 
tion for  objectless  exertion,  and  preferred  the  choice  of  his  own 
Aveather  indoors,  namely,  from  books  and  his  own  imaginings, 
to  an  encounter  with  the  keen  blasts  of  the  North,  charged 
as  they  often  were  with  sharp  bullets  of  liail.  When  the  sun 
did  shine  out  between  the  showers,  his  cold  glitter  upon  the 
pools  of  rain  or  melted  snow,  and  on  the  wet  evergreens  and 
gra'^el  walks,  always  drove  him  back  from  the  window  with  a 
shiver.  The  house,  which  was  of  very  moderate  size  and 
comfort,  stood  in  the  midst  of  plantations,  principally  of  Scotch 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  11 

firs  and  larches,  liome  of  the  former  old  and  of  great  growth, 
so  that  thej  had  arrived  at  the  true  condition  of  the  tree,  which 
seems  to  require  old  age  for  the  perfection  of  its  idea.  There 
was  very  little  to  be  seen  from  the  windows  except  this  wood, 
which,  somewhat  gloomy  at  almost  any  season,  was  at  the 
present  cheerless  enough ;  and  Sutherland  found  it  very  dreary, 
iideed,  as  exchanged  for  the  wide  view  fi'om  his  own  home  on  - 
■  30  side  of  an  open  hill  in  the  Highlands. 

In  the  midst  of  circumstances  so  uninteresting,  it  is  not  to  . 
be  Avondered  at,  that  the  glimpse  of  a  pretty  maiden  should, 
one  morning,  occasion  him  some  welcome  excitement.  Passing 
downstairs  to  breakfast,  he  observed  the  drawing-room  door 
ajar,  and  looked  in  to  see  what  sort  of  a  room  it  was  ;  for  so 
seldom  was  it  used  that  he  had  never  yet  entered  it.  There 
stood  a  young  girl,  peeping,  with  mingled  curiosity  and  rever- 
ence, into  a  small  gilt-leaved  volume,  which  she  had  lifted 
from  the  table  by  which  she  stood.  He  watched  her  for  a 
moment  with  some  interest ;  when  she,  seeming  to  become  raes- 
merically  aware  that  she  was  not  alone,  looked  up,  blushed 
deeply,  put  down  the  book  in  confusion,  and  proceeded  to  dust 
some  of  the  furniture.  It  was  his  first  sight  of  Margaret. 
Some  of  the  neighbors  were  expected  to  dinner,  and  her  aid 
was  in  requisition  to  get  the  grand  room  of  the  house  prepared 
for  the  occasion.  He  supposed  her  to  belong  to  the  household, 
till,  one  day,  feeling  compelled  to  go  out  for  a  stroll,  he  caught 
'  sight  of  her  so  occupied  at  the  door  of  her  father's  cottage, 
that  he  perceived  at  once  that  must  be  her  home  :  she  was,  in 
fact,  seated  upon  a  stool,  paring  potatoes.  She  saw  him  as 
well,  and,  apparently  ashamed  at  the  recollection  of  having  been 
discovered  idling  in  the  drawing-room,  rose  and  went  in.  He 
had  met  David  once  or  twice  about  the  house,  and,  attracted 
by  his  appearance,  had  had  some  conversation  with  him  ;  but 
he  did  not  know  where  he  lived,  nor  that  he  was  the  father  of 
the  girl  whom  he  had  seen. 


12  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER   III. 

THE    DAISY    AND    THE    PRIMROSE. 

Dear  secret  Greenness,  nursed  below 
Tempests  and  winds  and  winter  nights  ! 
V  Vex  not  that  but  one  sees  thee  grow; 

That  One  made  all  these  lessor  lights. 

Henry  VAUGOAy. 

It  was,  of  course,  quite  by  accident  that  Sutherland  had 
met  jNIargaret  in  the  fir-wood.  The  wind  had  changed  during 
the  night,  and  sv/ept  all  the  clouds  from  the  face  of  the  sky ; 
and  when  he  looked  out  in  the  morning,  he  saw  the  fir-tops 
waving  in  the  sunlight,  and  heard  the  sound  of  a  south-west 
wind  sweeping  through  them  with  the  tune  of  running  Avaters 
in  its  course.  It  is  a  well-practised  ear  that  can  tell  Avhether 
the  sound  it  hears  be  that  of  gently  falling  Avaters,  or  of  wind 
flowing  through  the  branches  of  firs.  Sutherland's  heart,  re- 
viving like  a  dormouse  in  its  hole,  began  to  be  joyful  at  the 
sisrht  of  the  genial  motions  of  Nature,  telling  of  warmth  and 
blessedness  at  hand.  Some  goal  of  life,  vague,  but  sure, 
seemed  to  glimmer  through  the  appearances  around  him,  and 
to  stimulate  him  to  action.  He  dressed  in  haste,  and  went 
out  to  meet  the  spring  He  Avandered  into  the  heart  of  the 
Avood.  The  sunlight  shone  like  a  sunset  upon  the  red  trunks 
and  bouijhs  of  the  old  fir-trees,  but  like  the  first  sunrise  of  the 
world  upon  the  ncAV  green  fringes  that  edged  the  young  shoots 
of  the  larches.  High  up  hung  the  memorials  of  past  summers 
in  the  rich  broAvn  tassels  of  the  clustering  cones ;  Avhile  the 
ground  under  foot  Avas  dappled  Avith  sunshine  on  the  fiillen  fir- 
needles, and  the  great  fallen  cones  Avhich  had  opened  to  scatter 
their  autumnal  seed,  and  now  lay  Avaiting  for  decay.  Over- 
head, the  tops  Avhence  they  had  fallen  Avaved  in  the  Avind,  as 
in  Avelcome  of  the  spring,  Avith  that  peculiar  swinging  motion 
which  made  the  poets  of  the  sixteenth  century  call  them  "  sail- 
ing pines."  The  Avind  blew  cool,  but  not  cold;  and  Avas  filled 
with  a  delicious  odor  from  the  earth,  which  Sutherland  took 
as  a  sign  that  she  Avas  coming  alive  at  last.  And  the  spring 
he  Avent  out  to  meet  met  him.  For,  first,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
he   spied   a  tiny  primrose,  peeping  out  of  its  rough,  careful 


DAVID    ELUINBROD.  liS 

leaves ;  and  he  wondered  liow;  hy  any  metamorphosis,  such 
leaves  cuuld  pass  into  such  a  flower.  Had  he  seen  the  mother 
of  the  next  spring-messenger  he  was  about  to  meet,  the  same 
thought  -would  have  returned  in  another  form.  For,  next,  as 
he  passed  on  with  the  prinn-ose  in  his  hand,  thinking  it  was 
almost  cruel  to  pluck  it,  the  spring  met  him,  as  if  in  her  own 
shape,  in  the  person  of  Margaret,  whom  he  spied  a  little  Avaj 
off,  leaning  against  the  stem  of  a  Scotch  fir,  and  looking  up  to 
its  top  swaying  overhead  in  the  first  billows  of  the  outburst 
ocean  of  life.  He  went  up  to  her  Avith  some  shyness  ;  for  the 
presence  of  even  a  child-mv.iden  was  enough  to  make  Suther- 
land shy,  —  partly  from  the  fear  of  startling  her  shyness,  as 
one  feels  when  drav/ing  near  a  crouching  fawn.  But  she, 
when  she  heard  his  footsteps,  dropped  her  eyes  slowly  from  the 
tvee-top,  and,  as  if  she  were  in  her  own  sanctuary,  waited  his 
approach.  He  said  nothing  at  first,  but  offered  her,  instead 
of  speech,  the  primrose  he  had  just  plucked,  wdiich  she  received 
with  a  smile  of  the  eyes  only,  and  the  sweetest  "Thank  you, 
sir,"  he  had  ever  heard.  But  while  she  held  the  primrose  in 
her  hand,  her  eyes  wandered  to  the  book  which,  according  to 
his  custom,  Sutherland  had  caught  up  as  he  left  the  house. 
It  was  the  only  well-bound  book  in  his  possession  ;  and  tlie 
eyes  of  Margaret,  not  yet  tutored  by  experience,  naturally 
expected  an  entrancing  page  within  such  beautiful  boards  ;  for 
the  gayest  bindings  she  had  seen  were  those  of  a  few  old 
annuals  up  at  the  house,  —  and  wei'e  they  not  full  of  the  most 
lovely  tales  and  pictures  ?  In  this  case,  hoAvever,  her  expecta- 
tion was  not  vain ;  for  the  volume  was,  as  I  have  already  dis- 
closed, "Coleridge's  Poems." 

Seeing  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  book,  "Would  you  like  to 
read  it?"  said  he. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  answered  Margaret,  her  eyes  brighten- 
ing with  the  expectation  of  delight. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  poetry  ?  " 

Her  face  fell.  The  only  poetry  she  knew  was  the  Scotch 
Psalms  and  Paraphrases,  and  such  last-century  verses  as 
iDrmed  the  chief  part  of  the  selections  in  her  school-books  ;  for 
this  Avas  a  very  retired  parish,  and  the  ncAver  books  had  not 
yet  reached  its  school.      She  had  Loped  chiefly  for  talcs. 

"  I  dinna  ken  much  about  poetry,"  she  answered,  trying  to 


11  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

speak  English,  "There's  an  aukl  book  o't  on  my  father's 
shelf;  but  the  letters  o't  are  auld-fashioned,  an'  I  dinna  care 
aboot  it." 

"But  this  is  quite  easy  to  read,  and  very  beautiful,"  said 
Hugh. 

The  girl's  eyes  glistened  for  a  moment,  and  this  was  all  her 
i-eply. 

"  Would  you  like  to  read  it?"  resumed  Hugh,  seeing  no 
further  answer  was  on  the  road. 

Slio  held  out  her  hand  towards  the  volume.  When  he,  in 
his  turn,  held  the  volume  towards  her  hand^  she  almost 
snatched  it  from  him,  and  ran  towards  the  house,  without  a 
word  of  "thanks  or  leave-taking  —  whether  from  eagerness,  or 
doubt  of  the  propriety  of  accepting  the  offer,  Hugh  could  not 
conjecture.  He  stood  for  some  moments  looking  after  her,  and 
tiien  retraced  his  steps  towards  the  house. 

It  would  have  been  something,  in  the  monotony  of  one  of 
the  most  trying  of  positions,  to  meet  one  who  snatched  at  the 
offered  means  of  spiritual  growth,  e^ven  if  that  disciple  had  not 
been  a  lovely  girl,  with  the  woman  waking  in  her  eyes.  He 
commenced  the  duties  of  the  day  with  considerably  more  of 
energy  than  he  had  yet  brought  to  bear  on  his  uninteresting 
pupils ;  and  this  energy  did  not  flag  before  its  effects  upon  the 
boys  began  to  react  in  fresh  impulse  upon  itself. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


THE    COTTAGE. 


0  little  Bcthlem!  poor  in  walls, 
But  rich  in  furniture. 

John  Masox's  Spiritual  Songs. 

There  was  one  great  alleviation  to  the  various  discomforts 
of  Sutherland's  tutor-life.  It  was,  that,  except  during  school- 
hours,  he  was  expected  to  take  no  charge  whatever  of  his  pu- 
pils.    They  ran  wild  all  other  times;   which  was  far  better,  in 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  15 

^yrsxj  way,  both  for  them  and  for  him.  Consequently  he  was 
entirely  his  own  master  beyond  the  fixed  margin  of  scholastic 
du'es;  and  he  soon  found  that  his  absence,  even  from  the 
table,  was  a  matter  of  no  interest  to  the  family.  To  be  sure, 
it  iiivolved  his  own  fasting  till  the  next  meal-time  came  round, 
for  the  lady  Avas  quite  a  household  martinet ;  but  that  was 
his  own  concern. 

That  very  evening,  he  made  his  way  to  David's  cottage, 
about  the  country  supper-time,  when  he  thought  he  should 
most  likely  find  him  at  home.  It  was  a  clear,  still,  moonlit 
night,  with  just  an  air  of  frost.  There  was  light  enough  for 
him  to  see  that  the  cottage  was  very  neat  and  tidy,  looking,  in 
the  midst  of  its  little  forest,  more  like  an  English  than  a  Scotch 
habitation.  He  had  had  the  advantage  of  a  few  months'  residence 
in  a  leafy  region  on  the  other  side  of  the  Tweed,  and  so  was 
able  to  make  the  comparison.  But  what  a  different  lea/age 
that  was  from  this !  That  was  soft,  floating,  billowy  ;  this,  - 
h-i.rd,  stiff,  and  straight-lined,  interfering  so  little  with  the 
skeleton  form,  that  it  needed  not  to  be  put  off  in  the  wintry 
season  of  death,  to  make  the  trees  in  harmony  with  the  land- 
scape. A  light  was  burning  in  the  cottage,  visible  through 
the  inner  curtain  of  muslin,  and  the  outer  one  of  frost.  As  he 
approached  the  door  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  voice,  and  from 
the  even  pitch  of  the  tone,  he  concluded  at  once  that  its  owner 
was  reading  aloud.  The  measured  cadence  soon  convinced  him 
that  it  was  verse  that  was  being  read  ;  and  the  voice  was  evi- 
dently that  of  David,  and  not  of  Margaret,  He  knocked  at 
the  door.  The  voice  ceased,  chairs  were  pushed  back,  and  a 
heavy  step  approached.      David  opened  the  door  himself 

"Eh!  Maister  Sutherlan',''  said  he,  "I  thocht  it  micht 
aiblins  be  yersel'.  You're  welcome,  sir.  Come  butt  the  hoose. 
Our  place  is  but  sma',  but  ye'll  no  min'  sittin'  doon  wi'  our  ain 
sels.  Janet,  ooman,  this  is  Maister  Sutherlan'.  Maggy,  my 
doo,  he's  a  frien'  o'  yours,  o'  a  day  auld,  already.  Ye're 
kindly  welcome,  Maister  Sutherlan'.  I'm  sure  it's  verra  kin' 
o'  you  to  come  an'  see  the  like  o'  huz." 

As  Hugh  entered,  he  saw  his  own  bright  volume  lying  on 
the  table  evidently  that  from  which  David  had  just  been 
reading. 

Margaret  had  already  plac*.^  for  him  a  cushioned  ai'm-chair, 


IG  DAVID    ELGINJ3R0D. 

the  only  comfortable  one  in  the  house  ;  and  presently,  the  table 
being  drawn  back,  they  were  all  seated  round  the  peat-fire  on 
the  liearth,  —  the  best  sort  for  keeping  feet  warm  at  least.  On 
the  crook,  or  hooked  iron  chain  susjended  witliin  the  chimney, 
hung  a  three-footed  pot,  in  which  potatoes  were  boiling  away 
merrily  for  supper.  liy  the  side  of  the  wide  chimney,  or  more 
properly  lum,  hung  an  iron  lamp,  of  an  old  classical  form 
common  to  the  country,  from  the  beak  of  which  projected, 
almost  horizontally,  the  lighted  wick,  —  the  pith  of  a  rush. 
The  light  perclied  upon  it  was  small  but  clear,  and  by  it  David 
had  been  reading.  Margaret  sat  right  under  it,  upon  a  small 
three-le2;2;ed  wooden  stool.  Sitting  thus,  Avith  the  licrht  falling 
on  her  from  above,  Hugh  could  not  help  thinking  she  looked 
very  pretty.  Almost  the  only  object  in  the  distance  from 
Avhich  the  feeble  light  was  reflected  was  the  patchwork  coun- 
terpane of  a  little  bed  filling  a  recess  in  the  wall,  fitted  with 
doors  which  stood  open.  It  was  probably  Margaret's  refuge 
for  the  night. 

"Well,"  said  the  tutor,  after  they  had  been  seated  a  few 
minutes,  and  had  had  some  talk  about  the  weather,  — surely  no 
despicable  subject  after  such  a  morning,  —  the  first  of  spring, 
— "  Avell,  how  do  you  like  the  English  poet,  Mr.  Elgin- 
brod?" 

"  Spier  that  at  me  this  day  week,  Maister  Sutherlan',  an' 
I'll  aiblins  answer  ye;  but  no  the  nicht,  no  the  nicht." 

"What  for  no?"  said  Hugh,  taking  up  the  dialect. 

"  Forae  thing,  we're  nae  clean  through  wi'  the  auld  sailor's 
story  yet ;  an'  gin  I  hae  learnt  ae  thing  aboon  anither,  it's  no 
to  pass  jeedgment  upo'  halves.  I  hae  seen  ill  weather  half  the 
simmer,  an'  athrang  corn-yard  after  an'  a,'  an  thato'  the  best. 
No  that  I'm  ill  pleased  wi'  the  bonny  ballant  aither." 

"  Weel,  will  ye  jist  lat  me  read  the  lave  o't  till  ye  ?  " 

"  Wi'  muckle  pleesur,  sir,  an'  mony  thanks." 

He  showed  Hugh  how  far  they  had  got  in  the  reading  of  the 
"Ancient  Mariner;"  whereupon  he  took  up  the  tale,  and 
carried  it  on  to  the  end.  lie  had  some  facility  in  reading  with 
expression,  and  his  few  affectations  —  for  it  must  be  confessed 
he  was  not  free  of  such  faults  —  were  not  of  a  nature  to  strike 
uncritical  hearers.  When  he  had  finished,  he  looked  up,  and 
his  eye  chancing  to  light  upon  Margaret  first,  he  saw  that  her 


DAVID    ELGIXUROD.  17 

clieek  was  quite  pale,  and  her  eyes  overspread  with  the  film, 
not  of  coming  tears,  but  of  emotion  notwithstanding. 

"  Well,"  said  Hugh  again,  willing  to  break  the  silence,  and 
turning  towards  David,  "  what  do  you  think  of  it  now  you 
have  heard  it  all  ?  " 

AVhether  Janet  interrupted  her  husband  or  not,  I  cannot 
tell ;  but  she  certainly  spoke  first :  — 

'•  Tshavah  ! "  —  equivalent  to  pshaw  —  "  it's  a'  lees.  AVhat 
for  are  ye  knittin'  yer  broos  ower  a  leein"  ballant,  —  a'  havers 
as  weel  as  lees?  " 

"I'm  no  jist  prepared  to  say  sue  muckle,  Janet,"  replied 
David  ;  "  there's  mony  a  thing  'at's  lees,  as  ye  ca't,  'at's  no  lees 
a'  through.  Ye  see,  Maister  Sutherlan',  I'm  no  gleg  at  the 
uptak,  an'  it  jist  taks  me  twise  as  lang  as  ither  fowk  to  see  to 
the  ootside  o'  a  thing.  Whiles  a  sentence  'ill  Icuk  to  me  clean 
nonsense  a" thegither;  an'  maybe  a  haill  ook  efter,  it'll  come 
upo'  me  a'  at  ance ;  an'  fegs !  it's  the  best  thing  in  a'  the 
beuk." 

IMargaret's  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  father  with  a  look  which 
I  can  only  call  faitJi/idness,  as  if  every  word  he  spoke  w^as 
truth,  whether  she  could  understand  it  or  not. 

"  But  perhaps  we  may  look  too  far  for  meanings  sometimes," 
suggested  Sutherland. 

"Maybe,  maybe;  but  when  a  body  has  a  suspeecion  o'  a 
trowth,  he  sud  never  lat  sit  till  he's  gotten  eyther  hit,  or  an 
assurance  that  there's  nothing  there.  But  there's  jist  ae  thing 
in  the  poem  'at  I  can  pit  my  finger  upo',  an'  say  'at  it's  no 
richt  clear  to  me  whether  it's  a'  straucht-foret  or  no?  " 

"  What's  that,  Mr.  Elginbrod?  " 

"It's  jist  this:  what  for  a'  thae  sailor-men  fell  doon  deid, 
an'  the  chicld  'at  shot  the  bonnie  burdie,  an'  did  a'  the  mis- 
cheef,  cam'  to  little  hurt  i'  the  en'  —  comparateevely." 

"  Well,"  said  Hugh,  "  I  confess  I'm  not  prepared  to  an- 
swer the  question.     If  you  get  any  light  on  the  subject  —  " 

"  Ow,  I  daur  say  I  may.  A  heap  o'  things  comes  to  me  as 
I'm  takin'  a  dauncler  by  mysel'  i'  the  gloamin'.  I"  11  no  say 
a  thing's  wrang  till  I  hae  tried  it  ower  an'  ower;  for  maybe 
I  haena  a  richt  grip  o'  the  thing  ava." 

"  What  can  ye  expec,  Dawvid,  o'  a  leevin'  corp,  an'  a' 
that  ?  —  ay,  twa  hunner  corps  —  fower  times  fifty's  twa  hunner 


18  DAVID    ELGINBllOD. 

—  an'  angels  tiirnin'  sailors,  an'  sangs  gaeiu  fleein'  aboot  liko 
laverocks,  and  tummelin'  doon  again,  tired  like?  —  Guid  pre- 
serve's a'  !  " 

"  Janet,  do  ye  believe  'at  ever  a  serpent  spak?  " 

"  Hoot !   Dawvid,  the  deil  was  in  him,  ye  ken." 

"The  deil  a  word  o'  that's  i'  the  word  itsel'  though,"  re- 
joined David,  with  a  smile. 

'•Dawvid,"  said  Janet,  solemnly,  and  with  some  consterna- 
tion, "ye're  no  gaein'  to  tell  me,  sittin'  there,  'at  ye  dinna 
believe  ilka  word  'at's  prentit  at  ween  tiie  twa  brods  o'  the 
Bible?     What  loill  Maister  Sutherlan'  think  o'  ye?  " 

"Janet,  my  bonnie  lass,"  — and  here  David's  eyes  beamed 
upon  his  wife, —  "  I  believe  as  mony  o'  them  as  ye  do,  an' 
maybe  a  wheen  mair,  my  dawtie.  Keep  yer  min'  easy  aboot 
that.  But  ye  jist  see  'at  fowk  warna  a'thegither  saitisfeed 
aboot  a  sairpent  speikin',  an'  sae  they  leiikit  aboot  and  aboot 
till  at  last  they  fand  the  deil  in  him.  Guid  kens  whether  he 
was  there  or  no.  Noo,  ye  see  hoo,  gin  we  was  to  leuk  weel 
aboot  thae  corps,  an'  thae  angels,  an'  a'  that  queer  stuff — but 
oh  !  it's  bonny  stuff  tee  !  —  we  micht  fa'  in  wi'  something  we 
didna  awthegither  expec',  though  we  was  leukin'  for't  a'  the 
time.  Sae  I  maun  jist  think  aboot  it,  Mr.  Sutherlan'  ;  an'  I 
wad  fain  read  it  ower  again,  afore  I  lippen  on  giein'  my  opingan 
on  the  maitter.  Ye  cud  lave  the  bit  beukie,  sir?  We'se 
tak'    guid   care   o't." 

"Ye're  verra  welcome  to  that  or  ony  ither  beuk  I  hae," 
replied  Hugh,  who  began  to  feel  already  as  if  he  were  in  the 
hands  of  a  superior. 

"  Mony  thanks;  but  ye  see,  sir,  we  hae  eneuch  to  chow  upo' 
for  an  aucht  days  or  so." 

By  this  time  the  potatoes  were  considered  to  be  cooked,  and 
were  accordingly  lifted  off  the  fire.  The  water  Avas  then 
poured  away,  the  lid  put  aside,  and  the  pot  hung  once  more 
upon  the  crook,  hooked  a  few  rings  further  up  in  the  chimney, 
in  order  that  the  potatoes  might  be  thoroughly  dry  before  they 
were  served.  Margaret  was  now  very  busy  spreading  the 
cloth  and  laying  spoons  and  plates  on  the  table.  Hugh  rose 
to  go. 

"Will  ye  no  bide,"  said  Jariet,  in  a  most  hospitable  tone, 
"  an'  tak'  a  het  pitawta  wi'  us  ?  " 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  19 

•'I'm  afraid  of  being  troublesome,"  answered  he. 

"  Nae  fear  o'  that,  gin  je  can  jist  pit  up  wi'  oor  hamclj 
meat." 

"  Mak  nae  apologies,  Janet,  mj  woman,"  said  David. 
"  A  het  pitawta's  aje  guid  fare,  for  gentle  or  semple.  Sit  ye 
doun  again,  Maister  Sutherlan'.  Maggj,  mj  doo,  whaur's 
the  milk?" 

"  I  thocht  Hawkie  wad  hae  a  drappy  o'  het  milk  by  this 
time,"  said  Margai'et,  "  and  sae  I  jist  loot  it  be  to  the  last;  but 
I'll  hae't  drawn  in  twa  minutes."  And  away  she  went  with 
a  jug,  commonly  called  a  decanter  in  that  part  of  the  north, 
in  her  hand. 

"  That's  hardly  fair  play  to  Hawkie,"  said  David  to  Janet 
with  a  smile. 

"  Hoot !   Dawvid,  ye  see  we  haeua  a  stranger  ilka  nicht." 

"  But  really,"  said  Hugh,  "  I  hope  this  is  the  last  time  you 
will  consider  me  a  stranger,  for  I  shall  be  here  a  great  many 
times,  — that  is,  if  you  don't  get  tired  of  me." 

"  Gie  us  the  chance  at  least,  Maister  Sutherlan'.  It's  no 
sma'  preevilege  to  fowk  like  us  to  hae  a  frien'  wi'  sae  muckle 
bulk  learnin'  as  ye  hae,  sir." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  looks  more  to  jou.  than  it  really  is." 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  we  maun  a'  leuk  at  the  starns  frae  the 
hicht  o'  oor  ain  een.  An'  ye  seem  nigher  to  them  by  a  lang 
growth  than  the  lave  o's.     My  man,  ye  ought  to  be  thankfu'." 

With  the  true  humility  that  comes  of  worshipping  the 
truth,  David  had  not  the  smallest  idea  that  he  was  immeas- 
urably nearer  to  the  stars  than  Hugh  Sutherland. 

Maggie  having  returned  Avith  her  jug  full  of  frothy  milk 
and  the  potatoes  being  already  heaped  up  in  a  wooden  bowl  or 
hossie  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  sendino;  the  smoke  of  their 
hospitality  to  the  rafters,  Janet  placed  a  smaller  wooden  bowl, 
called  a  caup,  filled  with  deliciously  yellow  milk  of  Ilawkie's 
latest  gathering,  for  each  individual  of  the  company,  with  an 
attendant  horn-spoon  by  its  side.  They  all  drew  their  chairs 
to  the  table,  and  David,  asking  no  blessing  as  it  was  called, 
but  nevertheless  giving  thanks  for  the  blessing  already  be- 
stowed, namely,  the  perfect  gift  of  food,  invited  Hugh  to  make 
a  supper.  Each,  in  primitive  but  not  ungraceful  fashion,  took 
a  potato  from  the  dish  with  the  fingers,  and  ato  it,   "  bite  and 


20  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

sup."  with  the  liclp  of  the  horn-spoon  for  the  milk.  Hugh 
thoaght  he  had  never  supped  more  pleasantly,  and  could  not 
help  observing  how  far  real  good-bi-ecding  is  independent  of 
the  forms  and  refinements  of  what  has  assumed  to  itself  the 
name  of  socict//. 

Soon  after  supper  was  over,  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  ;  so, 
after  kind  hand-shakings  and  good  nights,  David  accompanied 
him  to  the  road,  where  he  left  him  to  find  his  way  home  by 
the  starlight.  As  he  went,  he  could  not  help  pondering  a 
little  over  the  fact  that  a  laboring  man  had  discovered  a  diffi- 
culty, perhaps  a  fault,  in  one  of  his  favorite  poems,  whicli  had 
never  suggested  itself  to  him.  lie  soon  satisfied  himself, 
however,  by  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  the  poet  had  not 
cared  about  the  matter  at  all,  having  had  no  further  intention 
in  tlie  poem  than  Hugh  himself  had  found  in  it,  namely, 
witchery  and  loveliness.  But  it  seemed  to  the  young  student 
a  wonderful  fact,  that  the  intercourse  wdiich  was  denied  him  in 
the  laird's  family,  simply  from  their  utter  incapacity  of  yield- 
ing it,  should  be  afforded  him  in  the  family  of  a  man  who  had 
followed  the  plough  himself  once,  perhaps  did  so  still,  having 
risen  only  to  be  the  overseer  and  superior  assistant  of  laborers. 
He  certainly  felt,  on  his  way  home,  much  more  reconciled  to 
the  prospect  of  his  sojourn  at  Turriepuffit  than  he  would  have 
thought  it  possible  he  ever  should. 

David  lingered  a  few  moments,  looking  up  at  the  stars,  be- 
fore he  re-entered  his  cottage.  YV^hen  he  rejoined  his  wife  and 
child,  he  found  the  Bible  already  open  on  the  table  for  their 
evening  devotions.  I  will  close  this  chapter,  as  I  began  the 
first,  with  something  like  his  prayer.  David's  prayers  were 
characteristic  of  the  whole  man ;  but  they  also  partook,  in  far 
more  than  ordinary,  of  the  mood  "  of  the  moment.  His  last 
occupation  had  been  star-gazing  :  — 

"  0  Thou,  wha  keeps  the  stars  alicht,  an'  our  souls  burnin' 
wi'  a  licht  aboon  that  o'  the  stars,  grant  that  they  may  shine 
afore  thee  as  the  stars  forever  and  ever.  An'  as  thou  bauds 
the  stars  burnin'  a'  the  nicht,  Avhan  there's  no  man  to  see,  so 
baud  thou  the  licht  burnin'  in  our  souls,  whan  we  see  neither 
thee  nor  it,  but  are  buried  in  the  grave  o'  sleep  an'  forgetfu"- 
ness.  Be  thou  by  us,  even  as  a  mother  sits  by  the  bedside 
o'  her  aiiin'  wean  a'  the  lang  nicht ;  only  be  thou  nearer  to  us, 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  21 

even  in  our  verra  souls,  an'  watch  ower  the  wavl'  o'  drtiama 
that  they  mak'  for  themsels'.  Grant  that  more  an'  Tiiore 
thochts  o'  thy  thinkin'  may  come  into  our  herts  day  by  day, 
till  there  shall  be  at  last  an  open  road  atween  thee  an'  us,  an' 
tliy  angels  may  ascend  and  descend  upon  us,  so  that  yve  may 
be  in  thy  hea-ven,  e'en  while  we  are  upo'  thy  earth  :   Amen  " 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE    STUDENTS. 

In  wood  and  stone,  not  the  softest,  but  liardest,  be  always  aptest  for  portraiture, 
both  fairest  for  pleasure,  and  most  durable  for  profit.  Hard  wits  bo  hard  to  receive, 
but  sure  to  keep;  painful  without  weariness,  heedful  without  waverint;,  constant 
without  new-fang!eness;  bearing  heavy  things,  though  not  lightlj',  yet  williu'i.ly ; 
entering  hard  things,  though  not  easily,  j'ct  deeply;  and  so  come  to  that  porfeetness 
of  learning  in  the  end,  that  quick  wits  setin  in  liopo  but  do  not  in  deed,  or  else  very 
seldom  ever  attain  unto.  —  RoGEii  Ascham.  —  The  Schoolmaster. 

Two  or  three  very  simple  causes  united  to  prevent  Hugh 
from  repeating  his  visit  to  David  so  soon  as  he  would  other- 
wise have  done.  One  was,  that,  the  fine  weather  continuing, 
lie  was  seized  with  the  desire  of  exploring  the  neighborhood. 
The  spring,  which  sets  some  wild  animals  to  the  construction 
of  new  dwellings,  incites  man  to  the  enlarging  of  his,  making, 
as  it  were,  by  discovery,  that  which  lies  around  him  his  own. 
So  he  spent  the  greater  parts  of  several  evenings  in  wandering 
about  the  neighborhood ;  till  at  length  the  moonlight  failed 
him.  Another  cause  was,  that  in  the  act  of  searchino;  for 
some  books  for  his  boys  in  an  old  garret  of  the  house,  which 
was  at  once  lumber-room  and  library,  he  came  upon  some 
stray  volumes  of  the  Waverley  novels,  with  which  he  was  as 
yet  only  partially  acquainted.  These  absorbed  many  of  his 
spare  hours.  But  one  evening,  while  reading  the  '•Heart  of 
Midlothian,"  the  thought  struck  Lira,  what  a  character  David 
would  have  been  for  Sir  Walter !  Whether  he  Avas  right  or 
not  is  a  question  ;  but  the  notion  brought  David  so  vividly 
before  him.  that  it  roused  tlie  desire  to  see  him.  He  closed 
the  book  at  once,  and  wont  to  the  cottasre. 


22  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  We're  no  lilc'lj  to  c<a'  ye  onjthing  but  a  stranger  yet, 
Maister  Sutherlan',''  said  David,  as  he  entered. 

"  I've  been  busy  since  I  saw  you,"  was  all  the  excuse  Hugh 
offered. 

"  Weel,  ye're  welcome  noo ;  and  ye've  jist  come  in  time  after 
a',  for  it's  no  that  mony  hours  sin'  I  fand  it  oot  awthegither 
to  my  ain  settisfaction." 

"  Found  out  what?"  said  Hugh  :  for  he  had  foro;otten  all 
about  the  perplexity  in  which  he  had  left  David,  and  which 
had  been  occupying  his  thoughts  ever  since  their  last  inter- 
view. 

"  Aboot  the  cross-bow  an'  the  birdie,  ye  ken,"  answered 
David,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure.     How  stupid  of  me  !  "  said  Hugh. 

•'Weel,  ye  see,  the  meanin'  o'  the  haill  ballant  is  no  that 
ill  to  win  at,  seein'  the  poet  himsel'  tells  us  that.  It"s  jist  no 
to  be  proud  or  ill-natured  to  oor  neebours,  the  beasts  and  birds, 
for  God  made  ane  an'  a'  o's.  But  there's  harder  things  iu't 
nor  that,  and  yon's  the  hardest.  But  ye  see  it  was  jist  an  un- 
lucky thochtless  deed  o'  the  puir  auld  sailor's,  an'  I'mthinkin' 
he  was  sair  reprocht  in's  hert  the  minit  he  did  it.  His  mates 
was  fell  angry  at  him,  no'  for  killiu'  the  puir  innocent  craytur, 
but  for  fear  o'  ill  luck  in  consequence.  Syne  whan  nane  fol- 
lowed, they  turned  rich t  roun',  an'  took  awa'  the  character  o' 
the  puir  beastie  efter  'twas  deid.  They  appruved  o'  the  verra 
thing  'at  he  was  nae  doot  sorry  for.  But  onything  to  baud 
aff  o'  themsels  !  Nae  suner  cam  the  calm,  than  roun'  they 
gaed  again  like  the  weathercock,  an'  naething  wad  content 
them  bit  hingin'  the  deid  craytur  about  the  auld  man's  craig, 
an'  abusin'  him  forby.  Sae  ye  see  hoo  they  war  a  wheen 
selfish  crayters,  an'  a  hantle  waur  nor  the  man  'at  was  led 
astray  into  an  ill  deed.  But  still  he  maun  rue't.  Sae  Death 
got  them^  an'  a  kin'  o'  leevin  Death,  a  she  Death  as  'twar,  an' 
in  some  respecks  may  be  waur  than  the  ither,  got  grips  o'  him, 
puir  auld  body  !  It's  a'  fair  an'  richt  to  the  backbane  o'  the 
ballant,  Maister  Sutherlan',  an'  that  Ise  uphaud." 

Hugh  could  not  help  feeling  considerably  astonished  to  hear 
this  criticism  from  the  lips  of  one  whom  he  considered  an  un- 
educated man.  For  he  did  not  know  that  there  are  many 
other  educations  besides  a  college  one,  some  of  them  tending 


DAVID    ELGxNBROD.  23 

far  more  than  that  to  develop  the  common  sense,  or  fticulty 
of  judging  of  things  by  their  nature.  Life  intelligentlj  met, 
and  honestly  passed,  is  the  best  education  of  all;  except  that 
higher  one  to  which  it  is  mtended  to  lead,  and  to  which  it  had 
led  David.  Both  these  educations,  however,  were  nearly  un- 
known to  the  student  of  books.  But  he  was  still  more  aston- 
ished to  hear  from  the  lips  of  Margaret,  who  was  sitting  by  :  — 

"That's  it,  father;  that's  it!"  I  was  jist  ettlin'  efter -that 
same  thing  mysel',  or  something  like  it,  but  ye  put  it  in  the 
richt  words  exackly." 

The  sound  of  her  voice  drew  Hugh's  eyes  upon  her ;  he  was 
astonished  at  the  alteration  in  her  countenance.  While  she 
spoke,  it  was  absolutely  beautiful.  As  soon  as  she  ceased 
speaking,  it  settled  back  into  its  former  shadowless  calm.  Her 
father  gave  her  one  approving  glance  and  nod,  expressive  of 
Jio  surprise  at  her  having  approached  the  same  discovery  as 
himself,  but  testifying  pleasure  at  the  coincidence  of  their 
opinions.  Nothing  Avas  left  for  Hugh  but  to  express  his  satis- 
faction with  the  interpretation  of  the  difficulty,  and  to  add  that 
the  poem  would  henceforth  possess  fresh  interest  for  him. 

After  this,  his  visits  became  more  frequent ;  and  at  length 
David  made  a  request  Avhich  led  to  their  greater  frequency  still. 
It  was  to  this  effect :  — 

"  Do  ye  think,  Mr.  Sutherlan',  I  could  do  ony thing  at  my 
age  at  the  mathematics?  I  unnerstan'  weel  eneuch  hoo  to 
measur'  Ian',  an'  that  kin'  o'  thing.  I  jist  follow  the  rule. 
But  the  rule  itsel's  a  puzzler  to  me.  I  dinna  understan'  it  by 
half  Noo  it  seems  to  me  that  the  best  o'  a  rule  is,  no  to  mak 
ye  able  to  do  a  thing,  but  to  lead  ye  to  what  maks  the  rule 
richt,  — to  the  prenciple  o'  the  thing.  It"s  no  'at  I'm  mis- 
believin'  the  rule,  but  I  want  to  see  the  richts  o't." 

"  I've  no  doubt  you  could  learn  fast  enough,"  replied  Hugh. 
"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  help  you  Avith  it." 

"  Na,  na;  I'm  no  gaein'  to  trouble  you.  Ye  hae  eneuch  to 
do  in  that  way.  But  if  ye  could  jist  spare  me  ane  or  twa  o' 
yer  beuks  whiles,  ony  o'  them  'at  ye  think  proper,  I  sud  be 
muckle  obleeged  te  ye." 

Hugh  promised  and  fulfilled  ;  but  the  result  was,  that  before 
long,  both  the  father  and  the  daughter  wore  seated  at  the 
kitchen-table,  every  evening,  busy  with  Euclid  and  Algebra": 


24  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

and  that,  on  most  evenings,  Hugh  was  present  as  their  instruc- 
tor. It  Avas  quite  a  new  pleasure  to  nim.  Few  delights  sur- 
pass those  of  imparting  knowledge  to  the  eager  recipient. 
What  made  Hugh's  tutor-life  irksome,  was  partly  the  excess 
of  his  desire  to  communicate,  over  the  desire  of  his  pupils  to 
partake.  But  here  there  was  no  labor.  All  the  questions 
were  asked  by  the  scholars.  A  single  lesson  had  not  passed, 
however,  before  David  put  questions  which  Hugh  was  unable 
to  answer,  and  concerning  which  he  was  obliged  to  confess  his 
ignorance.  Instead  of  being  discouraged,  as  eager  questioners 
are  very  ready  to  be  when  they  receive  no  answer,  David  mere- 
ly said,  "  Weel,  weel,  we  maun  bide  a  wee,"  and  Aventon  with 
what  he  was  able  to  master.  Meantime  Margaret,  though 
forced  to  lag  a  good  Avay  behind  her  uitlier,  and  to  apply  much 
more  frequently  to  their  tutor  for  help,  yet  secured  all  she  got; 
and  that  is  great  praise  for  any  student.  She  was  not  by  any 
means  remarkably  quick,  but  she  knew  when  she  did  not  un- 
derstand ;  and  that  is  a  sure  and  indispensable  step  towards 
understanding.  It  is,  indeed,  a  rarer  gift  than  the  power  of 
understanding  itself 

The  gratitude  of  David  was  too  deep  to  be  expressed  in  any 
formal  thanks.  It  broke  out  at  times  in  two  or  three  simple 
words  when  the  conversation  presented  an  opportunity,  or 
in  the  midst  of  their  work,  as  by  its  own  self-birth,  ungen- 
erated  by  association. 

During  the  lesson,  which  often  lasted  more  than  two  hours, 
Janet  Avould  be  busy  about  the  room,  and  in  and  out  of  it,  Avith 
a  manifest  care  to  suppress  all  unnecessary  bustle.  As  soon 
as  Hugh  made  his  appearance,  she  Avould  put  off  the  stout  shoes, 
—  man's  shoes,  as  we  should  consider  them  —  Avhich  she  al- 
Avays  Avore  at  other  times,  and  put  on  a  pair  of  hauddes ;  that 
is,  an  old  pair  of  her  Sunday  shoes,  put  down  at  heel,  and  so 
conA^erted  into  -slippers,  Avith  Avhich  she  could  move  about  less 
noisily.  At  times  her  remarks  would  seem  to  imply  that  she 
considered  it  rather  absurd  in  her  husband  to  trouble  himself 
Avith  book-learning ;  but  evidently  on  the  ground  that  he  kncAV 
everything  already  that  Avas  Avorthy  of  the  honor  of  his  ac- 
quaintance ;  Avhereas,  Avith  regard  to  Margaret,  her  heart  Avas 
as  evidently  full  of  pride  at  the  idea  of  the  education  her 
daughter  was  getting  from  the  laird's  own  tutor. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  25 

Now  and  then  she  would  stand  still  for  a  moment,  and  gaze 
at  them,  with  her  bright  black  Qjes,  from  under  the  white 
frills  of  her  mutch,  her  bare  brown  arms  akimbo,  and  a  lool: 
of  pride  upon  her  equally  brown,  honest  face. 

Her  dress  consisted  of  a  wrapper,  or  short  loose  jacket,  of 
printed  calico,  and  a  blue  winsoy  petticoat,  which  she  had  a 
habit  of  tucking  between  her  knees,  to  keep  it  out  of  harm's 
way,  as  often  as  she  stooped  to  any  wet  work,  or,  more  espe- 
cially, when  doing  anything  by  the  fire.  Margaret's  dress  was, 
in  ordinary,  like  her  mother's,  with  the  exception  of  the  cap ; 
but  every  evening  when  their  master  was  expected  she  put 
off  her  wrapper,  and  substituted  a  gown  of  the  same  material, 
a  cotton  print ;  and  so,  with  her  plentiful  dark  hair  gathered 
neatly  under  a  net  of  brown  silk, —  the  usual  head-dress  of  girls 
in  her  position,  both  in  and  out  of  doors, — sat  down  dressed  for 
the  sacrament  of  wisdom.  David  made  no  other  preparation 
than  the  usual  evening  washing  of  his  large,  well-wrought  hands, 
and  bathing  of  his  head,  covered  with  thick  dark  hair,  plenti- 
fully lined  with  gray,  in  a  tub  of  cold  water ;  from  which  his 
face,  which  was  "  cremsin  dyed  ingrayne  "  by  the  weather, 
emerged  glowing.  He  sat  down  at  the  table  in  his  usual  rough 
blue  coat  and  plain  brass  buttons,  with  his  breeches  of  broad- 
striped  corduroy,  his  blue-ribbed  stockings,  and  leather  gaiters. 
or  ciiiticans,  disposed  under  the  table,  and  his  shoes,  with  five 
rows  of  broad-headed  nails  in  the  soles,  projecting  from  beneath 
it  on  the  other  side ;  for  he  was  a  tall  man,  — -  six  feet  still,  al- 
though five  and  fifty,  and  considerably  bent  in  the  shoulders 
with  hard  work.  Sutherland's  style  was  that  of  a  gentleman 
who  must  wear  out  his  dress-coa.t. 

Such  was  the  group  which,  three  or  four  evenings  in  the 
week,  might  be  seen  in  David  Elginbrod's  cottage,  seated 
around  the  white  deal  table,  with  their  books  and  slates  upon 
it,  and  searching,  by  the  light  of  a  tallow  candle,  substituted, 
as  more  convenient,  for  the  ordinary  lamp,  after  the  mysteries 
of  the  universe. 

The  influences  of  reviving  nature  and  of  genial  companion- 
ship operated  very  favorably  upon  Hugh's  spirits,  and  conse- 
quently upon  his  whole  powers.  For  some  time  he  had,  as  I 
have  already  hinted,  succeeded  in  interesting  his  boy  pupils  in 
their  studies ;   and  now  the  progress  they  made  began  to  be 


26  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

appreciable  to  themselves  as  well  as  to  their  tutor.  This  of 
course  made  them  more  happy  and  more  diligent.  There  were 
no  attempts  now  to  work  upon  their  parents  for  a  holiday  ;  no 
real  or  pretended  head  or  tooth  aches,  whose  disability  was 
urged  against  the  greater  torture  of  ill-conceded  mental  labor. 
They  began,  in  fact,  to  understand  ;  and,  in  proportion  to  the 
beauty  and  value  of  the  thing  understood,  to  understand  is  to 
enjoy.  Therefore  the  laird  and  his  lady  could  not  help  seeing 
that  the  boys  Avcre  doing  Avell,  —  far  better,  in  fact,  than  they 
had  ever  done  before ;  and,  consequently,  began  not  only  to 
prize  Hugh's  services,  but  to  think  more  highly  of  his  office 
than  had  been  their  wont.  The  laird  would  now  and  then 
invite  him  to  join  him  in  a  tumbler  of  toddy  after  dinner,  or  in  a 
ride  round  the  farm  after  school  hours.  But  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  these  approaches  to  friendliness  were  rather  irk- 
some to  Hugh ;  for,  whatever  the  laird  might  have  been  as  a 
collegian,  he  was  certainly  now  nothing  more  than  a  farmer. 
Where  David  Elginbrod  would  have  descried  many  a  ' '  bonny 
sicht,"  the  laird  only  saw  the  probable  results  of  harvest,  in 
the  shape  of  figures  in  his  banking-book.  On  one  occasion 
Hugh  roused  his  indignation  by  venturing  to  express  his  ad- 
miration of  the  deli2;htful  mino-lino;  of  colors  in  a  field  where  a 
good  many  scarlet  poppies  grew  among  the  green  blades  of  the 
corn,  indicating,  to  the  agricultural  eye.  the  poverty  of  the 
soil  Avhere  they  were  found.  This  fault  in  the  soil,  the  laird, 
like  a  child,  resented  upon  the  poppies  themselves. 

''•  Nasty,  ugly  weyds  !  We'll  hae  ye  admirin'  the  smut 
neist,"  said  he,  contemptuously  ;  "  'cause  the  bairns  can  bleck 
ane  anither's  faces  wit." 

"But  surely,"  said  Hugh,  "putting  other  considerations 
aside,  you  must  allow  that  the  color,  especially  when  mingled 
with  that  of  the  corn,  is  beautiful." 

"  Deil  hae't !  It's  jist  there  'at  I  canna  bide  the  sicht  o't. 
Beauty  ye  may  ca't !  I  see  nane  o't.  I'd  as  sune  hae  a 
reid-heedit  bairn,  as  see  the  reid-coatit  rascals  i'  my  corn.  I 
houp  ye're  no  gaein'  to  cram  stuff  like  that  into  the  heeds  o' 
the  twa  laddies.  Faith  !  we'll  hae  them  sawin'  thae  ill-fliurcd 
weyds  amang  the  Avheyt  neist.  Poapies  ca'  ye  them?  Weei 
I  wat  they're  the  Popp's  ain  bairns,  an'  the  scarlet  wumman 
to  the  mitlier  o'  them.     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  27 

Having  manifested  both  wit  and  Protestantism  in  the  closing 
sentence  of  his  objurgation,  the  hiird  relapsed  into  good  humor 
and  stupidity.  Hugh  would  gladly  have  spent  such  hours  in 
David's  cottage  instead ;  but  he  was  hardly  prepared  to  refuse 
his  company  to  Mr.  Glasford. 


CHAPTER  yi. 

THE   laird's   lady. 


Ye  archewyves,  standith  at  defence, 
Syn  ye  been  strong,  as  is  a  great  camayle; 
Ne  suffer  not  that  men  you  don  offence. 
And  slender  wives,  fell  as  in  battaile, 
Beth  eager,  as  is  a  tiger,  yond  in  Inde ; 
Aye  clappith  as  a  mill,  I  you  counsaile. 

Chaucer.  —  The  Cleric's  Tale, 


The  length  and  frequency  of  Hugh's  absences,  careless  as 
she  was  of  his  presence,  had  already  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  Mrs.  Glasford;  and  very  little  trouble  had  to  be 
expended  on  the  discovery  of  his  haunt.  For  the  servants 
knew  well  enough  where  he  went,  and  of  course  had  come  to 
their  own  conclusions  as  to  the  object  of  his  visits.  So  the 
lady  chose  to  think  it  her  duty  to  expostulate  with  Hugh  on 
the  subject.  Accordingly,  one  morning  after  breakfast,  the 
laird  having  gone  to  mount  his  horse,  and  the  boys  to  have  a 
few  minutes'  play  before  lessons,  Mrs.  Glasford,  who  had  kept 
her  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  waiting  for  the  opportunity, 
turned  towards  Hugh,  who  sat  reading  the  week's  news,  folded 
her  hands  on  the  tablecloth,  drew  herself  up  yet  a  little  more 
stiffly  in  her  chair,  and  thus  addressed  him  :  — 

"It's  my  duty,  Mr.  Sutherland,  seein'  ye  have  no  mother 
to  look  after  ye  —  " 

Hugh  expected  something  matronly  about  his  linen  or  his 
socks,  and  put  down  his  newspaper  with  a  smile  ;  but,  to  his 
astonishment,  she  went  on  :  — 

—  "To  remonstrate  wi'  ye,  on  the  impropriety  of  going  so 


28  DAVID    ELGINCROD. 

often  to  David  ElginbrocVs.    They're  not  company  for  a  young 
gentleman  like  you,  j\Jr.  Sutlierlantl." 

"  They're  good  company  enough  for  a  poor  tutor,  Mrs. 
Glasford,"  replied  Hugh,  foolishly  enough. 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  insisted  the  lady.  "With  your 
connexions  —  " 

"  Good  gracious  !  ■whoever  said  anything  about  my  connex- 
ions ?  I  never  pretended  to  have  any."  Hugh  was  getting 
angry  already. 

Mrs.  Glasford  nodded  her  head  significantly,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  I  know  more  about  you  than  you  imagine,"  and  then 
wont  v>n  :  — 

"  Your  mother  will  never  forgive  mo  if  you  get  into  a  scrape 
with  that  smooth-faced  hussy  ;  and  if  her  father,  honest  man, 
hasn't  eyes  enough  in  his  head,  other  people  have,  —  ay,  an' 
tongues  too,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

Hugh  was  on  the  point  of  forgetting  his  manners,  and  con- 
signing all  the  above-mentioned  organs  to  perdition ;  but  he 
managed  to  restrain  his  wrath,  and  merely  said  that  Margaret 
was  one  of  the  best  girls  he  had  ever  known,  and  that  there 
was  no  possible  danger  of  any  kind  of  scrape  with  her.  This 
mode  of  argument,  however,  was  not  calculated  to  satisfy  Mrs. 
Glasford.      She  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  She's  a  sly  puss,  with  her  shy  airs  and  graces.  Her 
father's  jist  daft  wi'  conceit  o'  her,  an'  it's  no  to  be  surprised 
if  she  cast  a  glamour  ower  you.  Mr.  Sutherland,  ye're  but 
young  yet." 

Hugh's  pride  presented  any  alliance  with  a  lassie  who  had 
herded  the  laird's  covfs  barefoot,  and  even  now  tended  their 
own  cow,  as  an  all  but  inconceivable  absurdity ;  and  he 
resented,  more  than  he  could  have  thought  possible,  the  enter- 
tainment of  such  a  deoiradiDo;  idea  in  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Glas- 
ford.  Indignation  prevented  him  from  replying ;  while  she 
went  on,  getting  more  vernacular  as  she  proceeded. 

"  It's  no  for  lack  of  company  'at  yer  driven  to  seek  theirs, 
I'm  sure.  There's  twa  as  fine  lads  an'  gude  scholars  as  ye'll 
fin'  in  the  haill  kintra-side,  no  to  mention  the  laird  and 
mysel'." 

But  Hugh  could  bear  it  no  longer ;  nor  would  he  condescend 
to  excuse  or  explain  his  conduct. 


DAVID    ELQINBROD.  29 

"Madam,  I  beg  you  will  not  mention  this  subject  again." 

"  But  I  ivill  mention't,  Mr.  Sutherlan'  ;  an'  if  ye'll  no 
listen  to  rizzon,  111  go  to  them  'at  maun  do't." 

"  I  am  accountable  to  you,  madam,  for  my  conduct  in  your 
house,  and  for  the  way  in  which  I  discharge  my  duty  to  your 
children,  —  no  further." 

"  Do  ye  ca'  that  dischairgin'  yer  duty  to  my  bairns,  to  set 
them  the  example  o'  hingin'  at  a  quean's  apron-strings,  and 
filling  her  lug  wi'  idle  havers  ?  Ca'  ye  that  dischairgin'  yer 
duty  ?     My  certie  !  a  bonny  dischairgin'  !  " 

"  I  never  see  the  girl  but  in  her  father  and  mother's  pres- 
ence." 

'^Weel,  weel,  Mr.  Sutherlan',"  said  Mrs.  Glasford,  in  a 
final  tone,  and  trying  to  smother  the  anger  which  she  felt  she 
had  allowed  to  carry  her  farther  than  was  decorous,  "we'll 
say  nae  mair  aboot  it  at  present ;  but  I  maun  jist  speak  to  the 
laird  himsel',  an'  see  what  he  says  till't." 

And  with  this  threat  she  walked  out  of  the  room  in  what 
she  considered  a  diOTified  manner. 

Hugh  was  exceedingly  annoyed  at  this  treatment,  and 
thought,  at  first,  of  throwing  up  his  situation  at  once  ;  but  he 
got  calmer  by  degrees,  and  saw  that  it  would  be  to  his  own 
loss,  and  perhaps  to  the  injury  of  his  friends  at  the  cottage. 
So  he  took  his  revenge  by  recalling  the  excited  face  of  Mrs. 
Glasford,  whose  nose  had  got  as  red  with  passion  as  the  protu- 
berance of  a  turkey-cock  when  gooblmg  out  its  unutterable 
feelings  of  disdain.  He  dwelt  upon  this  soothing  contempla- 
tion till  a  fit  of  laughter  relieved  him,  and  he  was  able  to  go 
and  join  his  pupils  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Meanwhile  the  lady  sent  for  David,  who  Avas  at  work  in  the 
garden,  into  no  less  an  audience-chamber  than  the  drawing- 
room,  the  revered  abode  of  all  the  tutelar  deities  of  the  house  ; 
chief  amongst  which  were  the  portraits  of  the  laird  and  her- 
self :  he,  plethoric  and  wrapped  in  voluminous  folds  of  necker- 
chief;  she,  long-necked,  and  lean,  and  bare-shouldered.  Tlie 
original  of  the  latter  Avork  of  art  seated  herself  in  the  most 
important  chair  in  the  room  :  and  Avhen  David,  after  carefully 
wiping  the  shoes  he  had  already  wiped  three  times  on  his  way 
up,  entered  with  a  respectful  but  nowise  obsequious  bow,  she 
ord^^red  him,  with  the  air  of  an  empress,  to  shut  the  door. 


80  DAVID   ELGINBllOD. 

When  he  hail  obeyed,  she  ordered  him,  in  a  similar  tone,  to  be 
seated  ;  for  she  sought  to  mingle  condescension  and  conciliation 
■with  severity. 

•'David,"  she  then  began,  "lam  informed  that  ye  keep 
open  door  to  our  Mr.  Sunderland,  and  tha,t  he  spends  most 
forenichts  in  your  company." 

"  Weel,  mem,  it's  verra  true,"  was  all  David's  answer. 
He  sat  in  an  expectant  attitude. 

"  Dawvid,  I  wonner  at  ye!"  returned  Mrs.  Glasford,  for- 
getting her  dignity,  and  becoming  confidentially  remonstrative. 
"Here's  a  young  gentleman  o'  talans,  wi'  ilka  prospeck  o' 
waggin'  his  hcid  in  a  poopit  some  day,  an'  ye  aid  an'  abet  him 
in  idlin'  aAva'  his  time  at  your  chimla-lug,  duin'  waur  nor  nae- 
thing  ava  !  I'm  surprised  at  ye,  Dawvid.  I  thocht  ye  had 
mair  sense." 

David  looked  out  of  his  clear,  blue,  untroubled  eyes,  upo? 
the  ruffled  countenance  of  his  mistress,  with  an  almost  pa. 
ternal  smile. 

"  Weel,  mem,  I  maun  say  I  dinna  jist  think  the  young 
man's  in  the  warst  o'  company,  whan  he's  at  our  ingle-neuk. 
An'  for  idlin'  o'  his  time  awa',  it"s  weel  waured  for  himsel', 
forby  for  us,  gin  holy  words  binna  lees." 

"  What  do  ye  mean,  Dawvid?  "  said  the  lady,  rather  sharp- 
ly, for  she  loved  no  riddles. 

"I  mean  this,  mem  :  that  the  young  man  is  jist  actin'  the 
pairt  o'  Peter  an'  John  at  the  bonny  gate  o'  the  temple,  whan 
they  said,  '  Such  as  I  have,  gie  I  thee  ; '  an'  gin'  it  be  more 
blessed  to  gie  than  to  receive,  as  Sant  Paul  say^  'at  the  Mais- 
ter  himsel'  said,  the  young  man' ill  no  be  the  waur  aif  in's 
ain  learnin',  that  he  impairts  o't  to  them  that  hunger  for't." 

' '  Ye  mean  by  this,  Dawvid,  gin  ye  could  express  yersel'  to 
the  pint,  'at  the  young  man,  wha's  ower  weel  paid  to  instruck 
my  bairns,  neglecks  them,  an'  lays  himsel'  oot  upo'  ither 
fowk's  weans,  wha  hae  no  richt  to  ettle  aboon  the  station  in 
which  their  Maker  pat  them." 

This  was  uttered  with  quite  a  religious  fervor  of  expostu- 
lation; for  the  lady's  natural  indignation  at  the  thought  of 
Meg  Elginbrod  having  lessons  from  her  boys'  tutor,  was  coAved 
beneath  the  quiet,  steady  gaze  of  the  noble-minded  peasant  father. 

"  He  lays  himsel'  oot  mair  upo'  the  ither  fowk  themsels 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  81 

than  upo'  their  weans,  mem  ;  though,  nae  doubt,  my  Magg_y 
comes  in  for  a  gude  share.  But  for  negleckin'  o'  his  duty  to 
you,  mem,  I'm  sure  I  kenna  hoc  that  can  be  ;  for  it  was  only 
yestreen  'at  the  laird  himsel'  said  to  me,  'at  hoo  the  bairns 
had  never  gotten  on  naething  like  it  wi'  ony  ithcr  body." 

"  Tlie  laird's  ower  ready  wi's  clayers,"  quoth  the  laird's 
«vife,  nettled  to  find  herself  in  the  wrong,  and  forgetful  of  her 
own  and  her  lord's  dignity  m  once.  "  But,"  she  pursued, 
"all  I  can  say  is,  that  I  consider  it  verra  improper  o'  you,  wi' 
a  young  lass-bairn,  to  encourage  the  nichtly  veesits  o'  a  young 
gentleman,  wha's  sae  far  aboou  her  in  station,  an'  dootless  will 
some  day  be  farther  yet." 

"  Mem  !  "  said  David,  with  dignity,  "  I'm  willin'  no  to  un- 
derstan'  what  ye  mean.  My  Maggy's  no  ane  'at  needs  luikin' 
efter ;  an'  a  body  had  need  to  be  carefu'  an'  no  interfere  wi' 
the  Lord's  herdin',  for  he  ca's  himsel'  the  Shepherd  o'  the 
sheep  ;  an'  weel  as  I  loe  her  I  maun  lea'  him  to  lead  them 
v-ha  follow  him  Avherever  he  goeth.  She'll  no  be  ill  guidit, 
and  I'm  no  gaein'  to  kep  her  at  ilka  turn." 

"Weel,  weel!  that's  yer  ain  affair,  Dawvid,  my  man,"  re- 
joined Mrs.  Glasford,  with  rising  voice  and  complexion. 
"  A'  'at  I  hae  to  add  is  jist  this  :  'at  as  lang  as  my  tutor  vees- 
its her  —  " 

"  He  veesits  her  no  more  than  me,  mem,"  interposed  David ; 
but  his  mistress  went  on  with  dignified  disregard  of  the  inter- 
ruption. 

—  "  Veesits  her,  I  canna,  for  the  sake  o'  my  own  bairns,  an' 
the  morals  o'  my  hoosehold,  eraploy  her  aboot  the  hoose,  as  I 
was  in  the  way  o'  doin'  afore.  Gude-mornin',  Dawvid.  I'll 
speak  to  the  laird  himsel',  sin'  yc'U  no  heed  me." 

"It's  more  to  my  lassie,  mem,  excuse  m.e,  to  learn  to  un- 
nerstan'  the  works  o'  her  Maker,  than  it  is  to  be  emploj'^ed  in 
your  household.  Mony  thanks,  mem,  for  what  yc  hev'  done 
in  tliat  way  afore ;  an'  gude-mornin'  to  ye,  mem.  I'm  sorry 
we  should  hae  ony  misunderstandin',  but  I  canna  help  it  for 
my  pairt." 

With  these  words  David  withdrew,  rather  anxious  about 
the  consequences  to  Hugh  of  this  unpleasant  interference  on 
the  part  of  Mrs.  Glasford.  That  lady's  wrath  kept  warm 
without  mucli  nursing,  till  the  laird  came  home  ;  when  she 


32  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

turned  the  ■svholo  of  her  battery  upon  him,  and  kept  up  a 
steady  fire  until  he  yielded,  and  promised  to  turn  his  upon 
David.  But  he  had  more  common  sense  than  his  Avife  in  some 
tilings,  and  saw  at  once  how  ridiculous  it  would  be  to  treat 
the  afiliir  as  of  importance.  So,  the  next  time  he  saw  David, 
he  addressed  him  half  jocularly:  — 

"  Weel,  Dawvid,  you  an'  the  mistress  hae  been  haein  a  bit 
o'  a  dispute  thegither,  eh  ?  " 

"Weel,  sir,  we  warna  a'thegither  o'  ae  min',"  said  David, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Weel,  weel,  we  maun  humor  her,  ye  ken,  or  it  may  be 
the  w^aur  for  us  a',  ye  ken."  And  the  laird  nodded  Avith  hu- 
morous significance. 

"  I'm  sure  I  sud  be  glaid,  sir ;  but  this  is  no  sma'  maitter 
to  me  an'  my  Maggie,  for  we're  jist  gettin'  food  for  the  very 
sowl,  sir,  frae  him  an'  his  bcuks." 

"  Cudna  ye  be  content  wi'  the  beuks  wi'out  the  man,  Daw- 
vid ?  " 

"We  sudmak'  but  sma'  progress,  sir,  that  get." 

The  laird  began  to  be  a  little  nettled  himself  at  David's 
stiffness  about  such  a  small  matter,  and  held  his  peace.  Da- 
vid resumed :  — 

"  Besides,  sir,  that's  a  maitter  for  the  young  man  to  sattle, 
an'  no  for  me.  It  Avad  ill  become  me,  efter  a'  he's  dune  for 
us,  to  steek  the  door  in's  face.  Na,  na ;  as  lang's  I  hae  a 
door  to  baud  open,  it's  no  to  be  steekit  to  him." 

"  Efter  a',  the  door's  mine,  DaAvvid,"  said  the  laird. 

"  As  lang's  I'm  in  your  hoose  an'  in  your  serAdce,  sir,  the 
door's  mine,"  retorted  Da\'id,  quietly. 

The  laird  turned  and  rode  away  without  another  word. 
What  passed  between  him  and  his  Avife  never  transpired.  Noth- 
ing more  Avas  said  to  Hugh  as  long  as  he  remained  at  Tur- 
riepuffit.  But  Margaret  Avas  never  sent  for  to  the  house  af- 
ter this,  upon  any  occasion  AvhateA'er.  The  laird  gave  her  a 
nod  as  often  as  he  saAv  her;  but  the  lady,  if  they  .chanced  to 
meet,  took  no  notice  oT  her.  Margaret,  on  her  part,  stood  or 
passed  Avith  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  no  further  change  of 
countenance  than  a  slight  flush  of  discomfort. 

The  lessons  Avent  on  as  usual,  and  happy  hours  they  Avere 
for  all  those  concerned.      Often,  in  after  years,  and  in  far  dif- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  33 

ferent  circumstances,  the  thoughts  of  Hugh  reverted,  with  a 
painful  yearning,  to  the  dim-lighted  cottage,  with  its  clay 
floor  and  its  deal  table  ;  to  the  earnest  pair  seated  with  him  at 
the  labors  that  unfold  the  motions  of  the  stars ;  and  even  to 
the  homely,  thick-set,  but  active  form  of  Janet,  and  that  pe- 
culiar smile  of  hers  with  which,  after  art  apparently  snappish 
speech,  spoken  with  her  back  to  the  person  addressed,  she 
would  turn  round  her  honest  face  half-apologeticaily,  and 
shine  full  upon  some  one  or  other  of  the  three,  whom  she  lion 
ored  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul,  and  who,  she  feared, 
might  be  oifended  at  what  she  called  her  "  hame-ower  fashion 
of  speaking."  Indeed  it  was  wonderful  what  a  share  the 
motherhood  of  this  woman,  incapable  as  she  was  of  entering 
into  the  intellectual  occupations  of  the  others,  had  in  produc- 
ing that  sense  of  home-blessedness,  which  inwrapt  Hugh  also 
in  the  folds  of  its  hospitality,  and  drew  him  towards  its  heart. 
Certain  it  is  that  not  one  of  the  three  would  have  worked  so 
well  without  the  sense  of  the  presence  of  Janet,  here  and  there 
about  the  room,  or  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  it, —  love 
watching  over  labor.  Once  a  week,  always  on  Saturday 
nights,  Hugh  stayed  to  supper  with  them ;  and  on  these  oc- 
casions, Janet  contrived  to  have  something  better  than  or- 
dinary in  honor  of  their  guest.  Still  it  was  of  the  homeliest 
country  fare,  such  as  Hugh  could  partake  of  without  the  least 
fear  that  his  presence  occasioned  any  inconvenience  to  his  en- 
tertainers. Nor  was  Hugh  the  only  giver  of  spiritual  food. 
Putting  aside  the  rich  gifts  of  human  affection  and  sympathy, 
which  grew  more  and  more  pleasant  —  I  ^n  hardly  use  a 
stronger  word  yet  —  to  Hugh  everyday,  many  things  were 
spoken  by  the  simple  wisdom  of  David,  which  would  have  en- 
lightened Hugh  far  more  than  they  did,  had  he  been  sufficient- 
ly advanced  to  receive  them.  But  their  very  simplicity  was 
often  far  beyond  the  grasp  of  his  thoughts ;  for  the  higher  we 
rise,  the  simpler  we  become  ;  and  David  was  one  of  those  of 
whom  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  There  is  a  childhood  into 
which  we  have  to  grow,  just  as  there  is  a  childhood  which  we 
must  leave  behind  ;  a  childlikeness  which  is  the  highest  gain  of 
.humanity,  and  a  childishness  from  which  but  few  of  those  who 
are  counted  the  wisest  among  men  have  freed  themselves  in 
their  imagined  progress  towards  the  reality  of  things. 
3 


34  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER   VII. 

TUE    SECRET    OF    THE    WOOD. 

The  unthrift  sunno  shot  vitall  gold, 

A  thousand  pieces; 
And  heaven  ita  azuro  did  unfold, 
Chequered  with  snowy  fleecea. 
The  air  was  all  in  spice, 

And  every  bush 
A  garland  wore  :  Thus  fed  my  Eyes, 
But  all  tho  Earo  lay  hush. 

Henry  Vadghan. 

It  was  not  in  mathematics  alone  tliat  Hugh  Sutherland  was 
serviceable  to  Margaret  Elginbrod.  That  branch  of  study  had 
been  chosen  for  her  father,  not  for  her ;  but  her  desire  to  learn 
had  led  her  to  lay  hold  upon  any  mental  provision  with  which 
the  table  happened  to  be  spread ;  and  the  more  eagerly  that 
her  father  was  a  guest  at  the  same  feast.  •  Before  long,  Hugh 
bethought  him  that  it  might  possibly  l)e  of  service  to  her,  in 
the  course  of  her  reading,  if  he  taught  her  English  a  little 
more  thoroughly  than  she  had  probably  picked  it  up  at  the 
parish  school,  to  which  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  till 
within  a  very  short  period  of  her  acquaintance  with  the  tutor. 
The  English  reader  must  not  suppose  the  term  j^ttrlsli  school 
to  mean  what  the  same  term  vrould  mean  if  used  in  England. 
'Boys  and  girls  of  very  different  ranks  go  to  the  Scotch  parish 
schools,  and  the  fees  are  so  small  as  to  place  their  education 
within  the  reach  Of  almost  the  humblest  means.  To  his  pro- 
posal to  this  effect  Margaret  responded  thankfully ;  and  it 
gave  Hugh  an  opportunity  of  directing  her  attention  to  many 
of  the  more  delicate  distinctions  in  literature,  for  the  apprecia- 
tion of  which  she  manifested  at  once  a  remarkable  aptitude. 

Coleridge's  poems  had  been  read  long  ago ;  some  of  them,  in- 
deed, almost  committed  to  memory  in  the  process  of  repeated 
perusal.  No  doubt  a  good  many  of  tliem  must  have  been  as 
yet  too  abstruse  for  her ;  not  in  the  least,  however,  from  in- 
aptitude in  her  for  such  subjects  as  they  treated  of,  but  simply 
because  neither  the  terms  nor  the  modes  of  thought  could  pos- 
sibly have  been  as  yet  presented  to  her  in  so  many  different 
positions  as  to  enable  her  to  comprehend  their  scope.     Hugh 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  35 

lent  her  Sir  Walter's  poems  next ;  but  those  she  read  at  an  eye 
glance.  She  returned  the  volume  in  a  week,  saying  merely, 
they  were  "  verra  bonnie  stories."  He  saw  at  once  that^  to 
have  done  them  justice  with  the  girl,  he  ought  to  have  lent 
them  first.  But  that  could  not  be  helped  now ;  and  what 
should  come  next  ?  Upon  this  he  took  thought.  His  library 
was  too  small  to  cause  much  perplexity  of  choice,  but  for  a  few 
days  he  continued  undecided. 

Meantime  the  interest  he  felt  in  his  girl-pupil  deepened 
greatly.  She  became  a  kind  of  study  to  him.  The  expression 
of  her  countenance  was  far  inferior  to  her  intelligence  and 
power  of  thought.  It  was  still  to  excess,  —  almost  dull  in 
ordinary ;  not  from  any  fault  in  the  mould  of  the  features, 
except,  perhaps,  in  the  upper  lip,  which  seemed  deficient  in 
drawing,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression ;  but  from  the 
absence  of  that  light  which  indicates  the  presence  of  active 
thought  and  feeling  within.  In  this  respect  her  face  was  like, 
the  earthen  pitcher  of  Gideon :  it  concealed  the  light.  She 
seemed  to  have,  to-  a  peculiar  degree,  the  faculty  of  retiring 
inside.  But  now  and  then,  while  he  was  talking  to  her.  and 
doubtful,  from  the  lack  of  expression,  whether  she  was  even 
listening  with  attention  to  what  he  was  saying,  her  face  would 
lighten  up  with  a  radiant  smile  of  intelligence ;  not,  however, 
throwing  the  light  upon  him,  and  in  a  moment  reverting  to  its 
former  condition  of  still  twilight.  Her  person  seemed  not  to 
be  as  yet  thoroughly  possessed  or  informed  by  her  spirit.  It 
sat  apart  within  her ;  and  there  was  no  ready  transit  from  her 
heart  to  her  face.  This  lack  of  presence  in  the  face  is  quite 
common  in  pretty  school-girls  and  rustic  beauties ;  but  it  was 
manifest  to  an  unusual  degree  in  the  case  of  IMargaret.  Yet 
most  of  the  forms  and  lines  in  her  fiice  were  lovely ;  and  when 
the  light  did  shine  through  them  for  a  passing  moment,  her 
countenance  seemed  absolutely  beautiful.  Hence  it  grew  into 
an  almost  haunting  temptation  with  Hugh  to  try  to  produce 
this  expression,  to  unveil  the  coy  light  of  the  beautiful  soul. 
Often  he  tried ;  often  he  fliiled,  and  sometimes  he  succeeded. 
Had  they  been  alone,  it  might  have  become  dangerous  —  I 
mean  for  Hugh ;   I  cannot  tell  for  Margaret. 

When  they  first  met,  she  had  just  completed  her  seventeenth 
year:  but,  at  an  age  when  a  town-bred  girl  is  all  but  a  woman, 


36  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

her  manners  were  tliose  of  a  child.  This  chiltlishnes3,'how- 
ever,  soon  began  to  disappear,  and  the  peculiar  stillness  of  her 
face,  of  Avhich  I  have  already  said  so  much,  made  her  seem 
older  than  she  wm. 

It  was  now  eai'l y  summer,  and  all  the  other  trees  in  the 
wood  —  of  which  there  were  not  many  besides  the  firs  of  various 
kinds  —  had  put  on  their  fresh  leaves,  heaped  up  in  green 
clouds  between  the  Avanderer  and  the  heavens.  In  the  morning 
the  sun  shone  so  clear  upon  these,  that,  to  the  eyes  of  one 
standing  beneath,  the  light  seemed  to  dissolve  them  away  tc 
the  most  ethereal  forms  of  glorified  foliage.  They  were  to  be 
claimed  for  earth  only  by  the  shadows  that  the  one  cast  upon 
the  other,  visible  from  below  through  the  transparent  leaf. 
This  efiect  is  very  lovely  in  the  young  season  of  the  year,  when 
the  leaves  are  more  delicate  and  less  crowded ;  and  especially 
in  the  early  morning,  when  the  light  is  most  clear  and  pene- 
trating. By  the  way  I  do  not  think  any  man  is  compelled  to 
bid  good-by  to  his  childhood :  every  man  may  feel  young  in 
the  morning,  middle-aged  in  the  afternoon,  and  old  at  night. 
A  day  corresponds  to  a  life,  and  the  portions  of  the  one  are 
"pictures  in  little"  of  the  seasons  of  the  other.  Thus  far 
man  may  rule  even  time,  and  gather  up,  in  a  perfect  being, 
youth  and  age  at  once. 

One  morning,  about  six  o'clock,  Hugh,  who  had  never  been 
so  early  in  the  wood  since  the  d^ay  he  met  Margaret  there, 
was  standing  under  a  beech-tree,  looking  up  through  its  mul- 
titudinous leaves,  illuminated,  as  *I  have  attempted  to  describe, 
with  the  sidelong  rays  of  the  biilliant  sun.  He  was  feeling 
young,  and  observing  the  forms  of  nature  with  a  keen,  dis- 
criminating gaze  :  that  was  all.  Fond  of  writing  verses,  he 
was  studying  nature,  not  as  a  true  lover,  but  as  one  who  would 
hereafter  turn  his  discoveries  to  use.  For  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  nature  afiected  him  chiefly  through  the  medium  of 
poetry ;  and  that  he  was  far  more  ambitious  of  writing  beauti- 
ful things  about  nature  than  of  discovering  and  understanding, 
for  their  own  sakes,  any  of  her  hidden  yet  patent  meanings. 
Changing  his  attitude  after  a  few  moments,  he  flescried,  under 
another  beech-tree,  not  far  from"  him,  Margaret,  standing  and 
looking  up  fixedly  as  he  had  been  doing  a  moment  before.  He 
approached  her,  and  she,  hearing  his  advance,  looked,  and  saw 


DAVID    ELGINBUOD.  87 

him,  but  did  not  move.  He  thought  he  saw  the  glimmer  of 
tears  in  her  ejes.      She  was  the  first  to  speak  however. 

''  What  were  jou  seeing  up  there,  Mr.  Sutherhmd?  " 

"  I  was  only  looiving  at  the  bright  leaves,  and  the  shadows 
upon  them." 

"  Ah  !  I  thocht  maybe  ye  had  seen  something." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Margaret?  " 

"I  dinna  richtly  ken  mysel'.  But  I  aye  expeck  to  see 
something  in  this  fir-wood.  I'm  here  maist  mornin's  as  the 
day  dawns,  but  I'm  later  the  day." 

"  W^e  were  later  than  usual  at  our  work  last  night.  But 
what  kind  of  thing  do  you  expect  to  see  ?  " 

"  That's  jist  what  I  dinna  ken.  An'  I  canna  min'  whan  I 
began  to  come  here  first,  luikin'  for  something.  I've  tried 
mony  a  time,  but  I  canna  min',  do  what  I  like." 

Margaret  had  never  said  so  much  about  herself  before.  I 
can  account  for  it  only  on  the  supposition  that  Hugh  had 
gradually  assumed  in  her  mind  a  kind  of  pastoral  superiority, 
which,  at  a  fiivorable  moment,  inclined  her  to  impart  her 
thoughts  to  him.  But  he  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  this 
strange  fiict  in  her  history.  She  went  on  to  say,  however,  as 
if,  having  broken  the  ice,  she  must  sweep  it  away  as  well :  — 

''  The  only  thing  'at  helps  me  to  account  for't  is  a  picter  in 
our  auld  Bible,  o'  an  angel  sitten'  aneth  a  tree,  and  haudin'  up 
his  han'  as  gin  he  were  speakin'  to  a  Avoman  'at's  stan'in'  afore 
him.  Ilka  time  at  I  come  across  that  picter,  I  feel  direckly 
as  gin  I  war  my  lane  in  this  fir- wood  here  ;  sae  I  suppose  that 
when  I  was  a  wee  bairn,  I  maun  hae  come  oot  some  mornin' 
my  lane,  wi'  the  expectation  o'  seein'  an  angel  here  waitin'  for 
me  to  speak  to  me  like  the  ane  i'  the  Bible.  But  never  an 
angel  hae  I  seen.  Yet  I  aye  hae  an  expectation  like  o'  seeiu' 
something,  I  kenna  what ;  for  the  whole  place  aye  seems  fu' 
o'  a  presence,  an'  it's  a  hantle  mair  to  men  or  the  kirk  an'  the 
sermon  forby ;  an'  for  the  singin',  the  soun'  i'  the  fir-taps  is 
far  mair  solemn  and  sweet  at  the  same  tim,  an'  muckle  mair 
like  praisin'  o'  God  than  a'  the  psalms  thegither.  But  I  aye 
think  'at  gin  I  could  hear  Milton  playin'  on's  organ,  it  would 
be  mair  like  that  soun'  o'  mony  waters  than  onything  else  'at 
I  can  think  o'." 

Hugh  stood  and  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment.     To  his  more 


S8       '  DAVID   ELGINBKOD. 

refined  ear  there  was  a  strange  incongruity  between  the  some- 
■\vliat  coarse  dialect  in  Avhich  she  spoke,  and  the  things  she 
uttered  in  it.  Not  that  he  was  capable  of  entering  into  her 
feelings,  much  less  of  explaining  them  to  her.  lie  felt  that 
there  was  something  remarkable  in  them,  but  attributed  both 
the  thoughts  themselves  und  their  influence  on  him  to  an  un- 
common and  weird  imagination.  As  of  such  origin,  however, 
he  Avas  just  the  one  to  value  them  highly. 

*'  Those  are  very  strange  ideas,"  he  said. 

"  But  what  can  there  be  about  the  wood?  The  very  prim- 
roses—  ye  brocht  me  the  first  this  spring  yersel',  Mr.  Suther- 
land —  come  out  at  the  fit  o'  the  trees,  and  look  at  me  as  if 
they  said,  '  ^Ve  ken  —  we  ken  a'  aboot  it ;  '  but  never  a  word 
mair  they  say.     There's  something  by  ordinar'  in't." 

"  Do  you  like  no  other  place  besides?  "  said  Hugh,  for  the 
sake  of  saying  something. 

"  Ou,  ay,  mouy  ane  ;  but  nane  like  this." 

"  What  kind  of  place  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

''I  like  places  wi'  green  grass  an'  flo^vers  amo't." 

'■'  You  like  flowers  then  ?  " 

"  Like  them  !  whiles  they  gar  me  greet,  an'  whiles  they  gar 
me  lauch ;  but  there's  mair  i'  them  than  that,  an'-i'  the  wood 
too.     I  canna  richtly  say  my  prayers  in  ony  ither  place." 

The  Scotch  dialect,  especially  to  one  brought  up  in  the  High- 
lands, was  a  considerable  antidote  to  the  eiiect  of  the  beauty 
of  Avhat  JNIargaret  said. 

Suddenly  it  struck  Hugh,  that,  if  Margaret  were  such  an 
admirer  of  nature,  possibly  she  might  enjoy  VV^ordsworth.  He 
himself  was  as  yet  incapable  of  doing  him  anything  like  jus- 
tice ;  and,  with  the  arrogance  of  youth,  did  not  hesitate  to 
smile  at  the  "Excursion,"  picking  out  an  awkward  line  here 
and  there  as  especial  food  for  laughter  even.  But  many  of  his 
smaller  pieces  he  enjoyed  very  heartily,  although  not  thor- 
oughly, —  the  element  of  Christian  Pantheism,  which  is  their 
soul,  being  beyond  his  comprehension,  almost  perception,  as 
yet.  So  he  made  up  his  mind,  after  a  moment  s  reflection, 
that  this  should  be  the  next  author  he  recommended  to  his 
pupil.  He  hoped  likewise  so  to  end  an  interview,  in  which 
he  might  otherwise  be  compelled  to  confess  that  he  could 
render  Margaret  no  assistance  in  her  search  after  the  somethina: 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  39 

ill  the  wood ;  and  lie  was  unwilling  to  say  lie  could  not  under- 
stand her  ;  for  a  power  of  universal  sympathy  was  one  of  those 
mental  gifts  which  Hugh  was  most  anxious  to  believe  he  pos- 
sessed. 

'•  I  will  bring  jou  another  book  to-night,"  said  he,  "  which 
I  think  you  will  like,  and  which  may  perhaps  help  you  to  find 
out  what  is  in  the  wood." 

He  said  this  smiling,  half  in  playful  jest,  and  without  any 
idea  of  the  degree  of  likelihood  that  there  was,  notwithstanding, 
in  what  he  said.  For  certainly,  Wordsworth,  the  Jiigh-priest 
of  nature,  though  perhaps  hardly  the  apostle  of  nature,  was 
more  likely  than  any  other  writer  to  contain  something  of  the 
secret  after  which  Margaret  was  searching.  Whether  she  can 
find  it  there  may  seem  questionable. 

"Thank  you,  sir."  said  Margaret,  gratefully;  but  her 
whole  countenance  looked  troubled,  as  she  turned  towards  her 
home.  Doubtless,  however,  the  trouble  vanished  before  she 
reached  it,  for  hers  was  net  a  nature  to  cherish  disquietude. 
Hugh,  too,  went  home,  rather  thoughtful. 

In  the  evening,  he  took  a  volume  of  Wordsworth,  and  re- 
paired, according  to  his  wont,  to  David's  cottage.  It  was 
Saturday,  and  he  would  stay  to  supper.  After  they  had 
given  the  usual  time  to  their  studies,  Hugh  setting  Margaret 
some  exercises  in  Englis-h  to  write  on  her  slate,  while  he 
hciped  David  with  some  of  the  el'.'ments  of  Trigonometry,  and 
again  going  over  these  elements  with  her,  while  David  worked 
out  a  calculation,  —  after  these  were  over,  and  while  Janet 
was  puttiu|[  the  supper  on  the  table,  Hugh  pulled  out  his  vol- 
ume, and,  without  any  preface,  read  them  the  "Leech-Gatherer." 
All  listened  very  intently,  Janet  included,  who  delayed  several 
of  the  operations,  that  she  might  lose  no  word  of  the  verses : 
David  nodding  assent  every  now  and  then,  and  ejaculating  ai/  !' 
ay  !  or  eh,  man  !  or  producing  that  strange,  mufiled  sound  at 
once  common  and  peculiar  to  Scotchmen,  which  cannot  be 
expressed  in  letters  by  a  nearer  approach  than  km  —  hm, 
uttered,  if  that  can  be  called  uttering,  with  closed  lips  and 
open  nasal  passage  ;  and  Margaret,  sitting  motionless  on  her 
creepie,  with  upturned  pale  face,  and  ejcs  fixed  upon  the  lips 
of  the  reader.  When  lie  had  ceased,  all  were  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment, when  Janet  made  some  little  sign  of  anxiety  about  her 


40  DAVID    ELGINBEOD. 

supper,  winch  certainly  had  suffered  by  the  delay.  Then, 
without  a  Avord,  David  turned  towards  the  table  and  gave 
thanks.  Turning  again  to  Hugh,  Avha  had  risen  to  place  his 
chair,  he  said  :  — 

"  That  maun  be  the  wark  o'  a  great  poet,  Mr.  Sutherlan'." 

"  It's  Wordsworth's  !  "  said  Hugh. 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  That's  Wordsworth's  !  Ay  !  Weel,  I  hae  jist 
heard  him  made  mention  o',  but  I  never  read  word  o'  his  afore. 
An'  he  never  repentit  o'  that  same  resolution,  I'se  warrant, 
'at  he  eynds  aff  wi'.     Hoo  does  it  gang,  Mr.  'Sutherlan'  ?  " 

Sutherland  read :  — 

"  'God,'  said  I,  'be  my  help  and  stay  secure! 

I'll  think  of  the  Icech-gatherer  on  the  louely  moor; '  " 

and  added,  "  It  is  said  Wordsworth  never  knew  what  it  was  to 
be  in  want  of  money  all  his  life." 

''  Nae  doubt,  nae  doubt :  he  trusted  in  Him." 
It  was  for  the  sake  of  the  minute  notices  of  nature,  and  not 
for  the  religious  lesson,  which  he  now  seemed  to  see  for  the 
first  time,  that  Hugh  had  read  the  poem.  He  could  not  help 
being  greatly  impressed  by  the  confidence  with  which  David 
received  the  statement  he  had  just  made  on  the  authority  of 
De  Quincey  in  his  unpleasant  article  about  Wordsworth. 
David  resumed :  — 

"He  maun  hae  had  a  gleg  'ee  o'  his  ain,  that  Maister 
Wordsworth,  to  notice  a'thing  that  get.  Weel  he  maun  hae 
likit  leevin'  things,  puir  maukin  an'  a'  —  jist  like  oor  Robbie 
Burns  for  that.  An'  see  hoo  they  a'  ken  ane  anither,  thae 
poets.  What  says  he  aboot  Burns  ?  —  ye  needna  tell  me,  Mr. 
Sutherlan' ;  I  mm't  weel  aneuch.     He  says  :  — 

"  '  Ilim  wha  walked  in  glory  an'  in  joy, 
Followiu'  his  ploo  upo'  tho  muutaiu-sido.' 

Puir  Robbie !  puir  Robbie  !  But,  man,  he  was  a  gran'  chield, 
cfter  a' ;  an'  I  trust  in  God  he's  Avon  hame  by  this  !  " 

Both  Janet  and  Hugh,  Avho  had  had  a  very  orthodox  educa- 
tion, started,  mentally,  at  this  strange  utterance ;  but  they  saw 
the  eye  of  DaAdd  solemnly  fixed,  as  if  in  deep  contemplation, 
and  lighted  in  its  blue  depths  Avith  an  ethereal  brightness,  and 
neither  of  them  ventured  to  speak.    Margaret  seemed  absorbed 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  41 

for  the  moment  in  gazing  on  lier  father's  face  ;  but  not  in  the 
least  as  if  it  perplexed  her  like  the  fir-wood.  To  the  seeing 
eje,  the  same  kind  of  expression  would  have  been  evident  in^ 
both  countenances,  as  if  Margaret's  reflected  the  meaning  of 
her  father's;  whether  through  the  medium  of  intolleptual  sym- 
pathy, or  that  of  the  heart  only,  it  v/ould  have  been  hard  to 
say.  Meantime  supper  had  been  rather  neglected ;  but  ita 
operations  were  now  resumed  more  earnestly,  and  the  conver- 
sation became  lighter,  till  at  last  it  ended  in  hearty  laughter, 
and  Husch  rose  and  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    SUNDAY    MORNING. 

It  is  the  property  of  good  and  sound  knowledge,  to  putrifie  and  dissolve  into  a 
number  of  subtle,  idle,  unwholsome,  and  (as  I  may  tearmo  them)  vermiculato  ques- 
tions; which  have  indeed  a  kindo  of  quiokncsse,  and  life  of  spirito,  but  no  soundnosse 
of  matter,  or  goodnesso  of  quality.  — Lord  Eacon.  — Advancement  of  Learning. 

The  following,  morning,  the  laird's  family  went  to  church 
as  usual,  and  Hugh  went  with  them.  Their  Avalk  was  first 
across  fields,  by  pleasant  footpaths ;  and  then  up  the  valley  of 
a  little  noisy  stream,  that  obstinately  refused  to  keep  Scotch 
Sabbath,  praising  the  Lord  after  its  owil  fashion.  They 
emerged  into  rather  a  bleak  country  before  reaching  the  church, 
which  was  quite  new,  and  perched  on  a  barren  eminence,  that 
it  might  be  as  conspicuous  by  its  position  as  it  was  remarkable 
for  its  ugliness.  One  grand  aim  of  the  reformers  of  the  Scot- 
tish ecclesiastical  modes  appears  to  have  been  to  keep  the 
worship  pure  and  the  worshippers  sincere,  by  embodying  the 
Avl'ole  in  the  ugliest  forms  that  could  be  associated  with  the 
name  of  Christianity.  It  might  be  wished,  hovfever,  that 
some  of  their  folloAvers,  and  amongst  them  the  clergyman  of 
the  church  in  question,  had  been  content  to  stop  there,  and 
had  left  the  object  of  worship,  as  represented  by  them,  in  the 
possession  of  some  lovable  attribute  ;  so  as  not  to  require  a  mau 


42  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

to  love  that  which  is  unlovable,  or  worship  that  which  is  not 
honorable,  —  in  a  word,  to  bow  down  before  that  which  is  not 
divine.  The  cause  of  this  dcgcneracj  they  share  in  common 
Avith  the  followers  of  all  other  great  men  as  well  as  of  Calvin. 
They  take  up  what  their  leader,  urged  by  the  necessity  of  the 
time,  spoke  loudest,  never  heeding  what  he  loved  most ;  and 
then  work  the  former  out  to  a  logical  perdition  of  everything 
belontTinsT  to  the  latter. 

Hugh,  however,  thought  it  was  all  right ;  for  he  had  the 
same  good  reasons,  and  no  other,  for  receiving  it  all,  that  a 
Mohammedan  or  a  Buddhist  has  for  holding  his  opinions ; 
namely,  that  he  had  heard  those  doctrines,  and  those  alone, 
from  his  earliest  childhood.  He  was  therefore  a  good  deal 
startled  when,  having,  on  his  way  home,  strayed  from  the 
laird's  party  towards  David's,  he  heard  the  latter  say  to  Mar- 
garet, as  he  came  up  :  — 

"  Dinna  ye  believe,  my  bonny  doo,  'at  there's  onymak'  ups 
or  mak'  shifts  wi'  JElm.  He's  aye  bringin'  things  to  the 
licht,  no  coverin'  them  up  and  lattin  them  rot,  an'  the  moth 
tak'  them.  He  sees  us  jist  as  we  are,  and  ca's  us  jist  Avhat 
we  are.  It  wad  be  an  ill  day  for  a'  o's,  Llaggy,  my  doo,  gin 
be  war  to  close  his  een  to  oor  sins,  an'  ca'  us  just  in  his  sicht, 
whan  we  cudna  possibly  be  just  in  oor  ain  or  in  ony  ither 
body's,  no  to  say  his." 

"  The  Lord  preserve's,  Dawvid  Elginbrod !  Dinna  ye 
believe  i'  the  doctrine  o'  Justification  by  t'aith,  an'  you  a'maist 
made  an  elder  o'  ?  " 

Janet  was  the  respondent,  of  course ;  Margaret  listened  in 
silence. 

"  Ou,  ay,  I  believe  in't,  nae  doot ;  but,  troth  !  the  minister, 
honest  man,  near-han'  gart  me  disbelieve  in't  a'thegither  vfi' 
his  gran'  sermon  this  mornin',  about  imputit  richteousness, 
an'  a  clean  robe  hidin'  a  foul  skin  or  a  crookit  back.  Na,  na. 
May  Him  'at  woosh  the  feet  o'  his  friens,  wash  us  a'thegither, 
and  straucht  oor  crookit  banes,  till  we're  clean  and  weel-faured 
like  his  ain  bonny  sel'." 

"  Weel,  Dawvid  —  but  that's  sanctificaition,  ye  ken." 

"  Ca't  ony  name  'at  you  or  the  minister  likes,  Janet,  my 
woman.  I  daursay  there's  neither  o'  ye  far  wrang  after  a' ; 
only  this  is  jist  my  opingan  aboot  it  in  sma'  —  that  thot  man, 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  43 

and  that  man  only,  is  justifeed,  wha  pits  liimsel'  into  the  Lord's 
han's  to  sanctifee  him.  Noo  !  An'  that'll  no  be  dune  bj  pit- 
tin'  a  robe  o'  richteousness  upo'  him,  afore  he's  gotten  a  clean 
skin  aneath't.  As  gin  a  father  cudna  bide  to  see  the  puir 
scabbit  skin  o'  his  ain  wee  bit  bairnie,  aj,  or  o'  his  prodigal 
son  either,  but  bude  to  hap  it  a'  up  afore  he  cud  lat  it  come 
near  him  !     xVhva  !  " 

Here  Hugh  ventured  to  interpose  a  remark. 

"  But  you  don't  think,  Mr.  Elginbrod,  that  the  minister  in- 
tended to  say  that  justification  left  a  man  at  liberty  to  sin,  or 
that  the  robe  of  Christ's  righteousness  would  hide  him  from 
the  work  of  the  Spirit  ?  ^' 

"  Na  ;  but  there  is  a  notion  in't  o'  hidin'  frae  God  himsel'. 
I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,  Mr.  Sutherlan'  :  the  minister's  a'  richt 
in  himsel',  an'  sae's  my  Janet  here,  an'  mony  mair;  an'  aib- 
lins  there's  a  kin'  o'  trowth  in  a'  'at  they  say ;  but  this  is  mj 
quarrel  wi'  a'  thae  Avords,  an'  airguments,  an'  seemilies 
as  they  ca'  them,  an'  doctrines,  an'  a'  that  —  they  jist 
hand  a  puir  body  at  airm's  lenth  oot  OAver  frae  God  himsel'. 
An'  they  raise  a  mist  an'  a  stour  a'  aboot  him,  'at  the  puir 
bairn  canna  see  the  Father  himsel',  stan'iii  wi'  his  airms 
streekit  oot  as  wide's  the  heavens,  to  tak'  the  worn  crater  — 
and  the  mair  sinner,  the  mair  welcome  —  hame  to  his  verra 
hert.  Gin  a  body  wad  lea'  a'  that,  an'  jist  get  fowk  persuadit 
to  speyk  a  word  or  twa  to  God  him  lane,  the  loss,  in  my  opin- 
gan,  wad  be  unco  sma',  an'  the  gain  verra  great." 

Even  Janet  dared  not  reply  to  the  solemnity  of  this  speech  ; 
for  the  seer-like  look  was  upon  David's  fiice,  and  the  tears  had 
gathered  in  his  eyes  and  dimmed  their  blue.  A  kind  of  trem- 
ulous, pathetic  smile  flickered  about  his  beautifully  curved 
mouth,  like  the  glimmer  of  water  in  a  vallej'',  betAvixt  the 
lofty  aquiline  nose  and  the  powerful  but  finely  modelled  chin. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  dared  not  let  the  smile  break  out,  lest  it 
should  be  followed  instantly  by  a  burst  of  tears. 

Margaret  went  close  up  to  her  father,  and  took  his  hand  as 
if  she  had  been  still  a  child,  A\'hile  Janet  v>'alked  reverentially 
by  him  on  the  other  side.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that 
Janet  felt  any  uneasiness  about  her  husband's  opinions,  al- 
though she  never  hesitated  to  utter  what  she  considered  her 
common-sense  notipns,  in  attempted  modification  cf  some  of  the 


44  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

more  extreme  of  tliem.  The  fact  was  that,  if  he  was  wrong, 
Janet  did  not  care  to  be  riglit ;  and  if  be  Avas  right,  Janet 
was  sure  to  be  ;  "  for,"  said  she,  — and  in  spirit,  if  not  in  the 
letter,  it  was  quite  true,  —  "I  never  mint  at  contradickin'  him. 
My  man  sail  hae  bis  ain  get,  that  sail  be."  But  she  bad  one 
especial  grudge  at  his  opinions  :  which  was,  tluit  it  must  have 
been  in  consequence  of  them  that  he  had  declined,  with  a 
queer  smile,  the  honorable  position  of  Elder  of  the  Kirk ;  for 
which  Janet  considered  him,  notwithstanding  bis  opinions,  im- 
measurably more  fitted  than  any  other  man  "in  the  baill 
country-side  —  ye  may  add  Scotlan'  forby."  The  fact  of  bis 
having  been  requested  to  fill  the  vacant  place  of  Elder  is 
proof  enough  that  David  was  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  open 
expression  to  bis  opinions.  He  was  looked  upon  as  a  douce 
man,  long-headed  enough,  and  somewhat  precise  in  the  exac- 
tion of  the  laird's  rights,  but  open-hearted  and  open-handed 
with  what  was  bis  own.  Every  one  respected  him,  and  felt 
kindly  towards  him  ;  some  were  a  little  afraid  of  him  ;  but  few 
suspected  him  of  being  religious  beyond  the  degree  which  is 
commonly  supposed  to  be  the  general  inheritance  of  Scotch- 
men,'possibly  in 'virtue  of  their  being  brought  up  upon  oat- 
meal porridge  and  the  Shorter  Catechism. 

Hugh  walked  behind  the  party  for  a  short  way,  contemplat- 
ing them  in  their  Sunday  clothes ;  David  wore  a  suit  of  fine 
black  cloth.  He  then  turned  to  rejoin  the  laird's  company. 
Mrs.  Glasford  was  questioning  her  boys,  in  an  intermittent 
and  desultory  fashion,  about  the  sermon. 

' '  An'  what  was  the  fourth  beid,  —  can  ye  tell  me,  Wil- 
lie ?  " 

Willie,  the  eldest,  who  bad  carefully  impressed  the  fourth 
bead  upon  his  memory,  and  bad  been  anxiously  waiting  for  an 
opportunity  of  bringing  it  out,  replied  at  once  :  — 

' '  Fourthly.  The  various  appellations  by  which  those  who 
have  indued  the  robe  ,of  righteousness  are  designated  in  Holy 
Wi-it." 

"  Weel  done,  Willie  !  "  cried  the  laird. 

"  That's  richt,  Willie,"  said  bis  mother.  Then  turning  to 
the  younger,  whose  attention  was  attracted  by  a  strange  bird  in 
the  hedge  in  front,  "An'  what  called  he  them  Johnnie,  that 
put  on  the  robe?  "  she  asked.  , 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  45 

"  Whited  sepulchres,"  answered  Johnnie,  indebted  for  his 
wit  to  his  wool-gathering. 

This  put  an  end  to  the  catecliizing.  Mrs.  Glasford  glanced 
round  at  Ilun-h,  whose  defection  she  had  seen  with  indi2;na- 
tion,  and  who,  waiting  for  them  bj  the  roadside,  had  heard  the 
last  question  and  reply,  with  an  expression  that  seemed  to  at- 
tribute anv  defect  in  the  answer  entirely  to  the  carelessness 
of  the  tutor,  and  the  withdrawal  of  his  energies  from  her  boys 
to  that  "  saucy  quean,  Meg  Elginbrod." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NATURE. 

When  the  Soul  is  kindled  or  enlightened  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  then  it  beholds  what 
God  its  Father  does,  as  a  Son  beholds  what  his  Father  does  at  Home  in  his  own 
House.  —  Jacob  Beiiiien's  Aurora  —  Laiifs  Translation. 

Margaret  began  to  read  Wordsworth,  slowly  at  first,  but 
soon  with  greater  facility.  Ere  long  she  perceived  that  she 
had  found  a  friend ;  for  not  only  did  he  sympathize  with  her  in 
her  love  for  nature,  putting  many  vague  feelings  into  thoughts, 
and  many  thoughts  into  words  for  her,  but  he  iiitroduced  her  to 
nature  in  many  altogether  new  aspects,  and  taught  her  to  re- 
gard it  in  ways  which  had  hitherto  been  unknown  to  her.  Not 
only  was  the  pine-wood  now  dearer  to  her  than  before,  but  its 
mystery  seemed  more  sacred,  and,  at  the  same  time,  more 
likely  to  be  one  day  solved.  She  felt  far  more  assuredly  the 
presence  of  a  spirit  in  nature, 

"  Whoso  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air;  " 

for  he  taught  her  to  take  wider  views  of  nature,  and  to  per- 
ceive and  feel  the  expressions  of  more  extended  aspects  of  the 
world  around  her.  The  purple  hill-side  was  almost  as  dear  to 
her  as  the  fir-wood  now ;  and  the  star  that  crowned  its  summit 
at  eve  sparkled  an  especial  message  to  her,  before  it  went  on 


46  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

its  way  up  the  blue.  She  extended  her  rambles  in  all  direc- 
tions, and  began  to  get  with  the  neighbors  the  character  of  an 
idle  girl.  Little  they  knew  liow  early  she  rose,  and  how  dili- 
gently she  did  her  share  of  the  work,  urged  by  desire  to  read 
the'  word  of  God  in  his  own  handwriting ;  or,  rather,  to  pore 
upon  that  expression  of  the  face  of  God,  which,  however  little 
a  man  may  think  of  it,  yet  sinks  so  deeply  into  his  nature, 
and  moulds  it  towards  its  own  likeness. 

Nature  was  doing  for  Margaret  what  she  had  done  before 
for  Wordsworth's  Lucy  :  she  was  making  of  her  "  a  lady  of 
her  own."  She  grew  taller  and  more  graceful.  The  lasting 
quiet  of  her  face  began  to  look  as  if  it  were  ever  upon  the 
point  of  blossoming  into  an  expression  of  lovely  feeling.  The 
principal  change  was  in  her  mouth,  which  became  delicate  and 
tender  in  its  curves,  the  lips  seeming  to  kiss  each  other  for 
very  sweetness.  But  I  am  anticipating  these  changes,  for  it 
took  a  far  longer  time  to  perfect  them  than  has  yet  been  occu- 
pied by  my  story. 

But  even  her  mother  was  not  altogether  proof  against  the 
appearance  of  listlessness  and  idleness  which  Margaret's  be- 
havior sometimes  wore  to  her  eyes ;  nor  could  she  quite  under- 
stand or  excuse  her  long  lonely  walks ;  so  that  now  and 
then  she  could  not  help  addressing  her  after  this  fash- 
ion :  — 

"Meg!  Meg!  ye  do  try  my  patience,  lass,  idlin'  awa'  yer 
time  that  get.  *It's  an  awfu'  wastry  o'  time,  what  wi'  beuks, 
an'  what  wi'  stravaguin',  an'  what  wi'  naething  ava.  Jist  pit 
yer  han'  to  this  kirn  noo,  like  a  gude  bairn." 

Margaret  would  obey  her  mother  instantly,  but  with  a  look 
of  silent  expostulation  which  her  mother  -could  not  resist; 
sometimes,  perhaps,  if  the  words  were  sharper  than  usual, 
with  symptoms  of  gathering  tears ;  upon  which  Janet  would 
say,  with  her  honest  smile  of  sweet  relenting  :  — • 

"  Hootoots,  bairn  !  never  heed  me.  My  bark's  aye  waur 
nor  my  bite  ;  ye  ken  that." 

Then  Margaret's  face  would  brighten  at  once,  and  she  would 
work  hard  at  whatever  her  mother  set  her  to  do,  till  it  vfas 
finished  ;  upon  which  her  mother  would  be  more  glad  than 
she,  and  in  no  haste  to  impose  any  further  labor  out  of  the 
usual  routine. 


DAVID   ELGINBKOD.  47 

In  the  course  of  reading  Wordsworth,  Margaret  had  fre- 
quent occasion  to  applj  to  Hugh  for  help.  These  occasions, 
however,  generally  involved  no  more  than  small  external  diffi- 
culties, which  prevented  her  from  taking  in  the  scope  of  a, 
passage.  Hugh  was  always  able  to  meet  these,  and  Margaret 
supposed  that  the  whole  of  the  light  which  flashed  upon  her 
mind,  when  thej  were  removed,  was  poured  upon  the  page  by 
the  wisdom  of  her  tutor  ;  never  dreaming  —  such  was  her  hu- 
mility with  regard  to  herself,  and  her  reverence  towards  him 
—  that  it  came  from  the  depths  of  her  own  lucent  nature, 
ready  to  perceive  what  the  poet  came  prepared  to  show.  Now 
and  then,  it  is  true,  she  applied  to  him  with  difficulties  in 
which  he  was  incapable  of  aiding  her ;  but  she  put  down  her 
failure  in  discovering  the  meaning,  after  all  which  it  must  be 
confessed  he  sometimes  tried  to  say,  to  her  own  stupidity  or 
peculiarity,  —  never  to  his  incapacity.  She  had  been  helped 
to  so  much  by  his  superior  acquirements  and  his  real  gift  for 
communicating  what  he  thoroughly  understood  ;  he  had  been 
so  entirely  her  guide  to  knowledge,  that  she  would  at  once 
have  felt  self-condemned  of  impiety,  —  in  the  old  meaning  of 
the  word,  —  if  she  had  doubted  for  a  moment  his  ability  to 
understand  or  explain  any  difficulty  v/hich  she  could  place 
clearly  before  him. 

By  and  by  he  began  to  lend  her  harder,  that  is,  more  purely 
intellectual  books.  He  was  himself  preparing  for  the  class  of 
Moral  Philosophy  and  Metaphysics;  and  he  chose  for  her  some 
of  the  simpler  of  his  books  on  these  subjects,  —  of  course  all 
of  the  Scotch  school, — beginning  with  Abercrombie's  "Intel- 
lectual Powers."  She  took  this  eagerly,  and  evidently  read 
it  with  great  attention. 

One  evening,  in  the  end  of  summer,  Hugh  climbed  a  waste 
heathery  hill  that  lay  behind  the  house  of  Turriepuffit,  and 
overlooked  a  great  part  of  the  neighboring  country,  the  peaks 
of  some  of  the  greatest  of  the  Scotch  mountains  being  visible 
from  its  top.  Here  he  intended  to  wait  for  the  sunset.  He 
threw  himself  on  the  heather,  that  most  delightful  and  luxu- 
rious of  all  couches,  supporting  the  body  with  a  kindly  up- 
holding of  every  part ;  and  there  he  lay  in  the  great  slumber- 
ous sunlight  of  the  late  afternoon,  with  the  blue  heavens,  into 
which  he  was  gazing  full  up,  closing  down  upon   him,  as  the 


48  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

light  descended  the  side  of  the  sky.  lie  fell  ftxst  asleep.  If 
ever  there  he  an  excuse  for  falling  asleep  out  of  bed,  surely  it 
is  when  stretched  at  full  length  upon  heather  in  bloom.  When 
he  awoke,  the  last  of  the  sunset  was  dying  away ;  and  between 
him  and  the  sunset  sat  Margaret,  book  in  hand,  waiting  appar- 
ently for  his  waking.  He  lay  still  for  a  few  minutes,  to  come 
to  himself  before  she  should  see  he  was  awake.  But  she  rose 
at  the  moment,  and,  drawing  near  very  quietly,  looked  down 
upon  him  with  her  sweet  sunset  face,  to  see  whether  or  not  he 
■was  beginning  to  rouse,  for  she  feared  to  let  him  lie  much 
longer  after  sundown.  Finding  him  awake,  she  drew  back 
again  without  a  word,  and  sat  down  as  before  with  her  book. 
At  length  he  rose,  and,  approaching  her,  said :  — 

"  Well,  Margaret,  what  book  are  you  at  now  ?" 

"Dr.  Abercrombie,  sir,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Verra  weel  for  some  things.  It  makds  a  body  think;  but 
not  a'thesiither  as  I  like  to  think  either." 

It  will  be  observed  that  Margaret's  speech  had  begun  to 
improve,  that  is,  to  be  more  like  English. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  it  ?  " 

''  Weel,  ye  see,  sir,  it  taks  a  body  a'  to  bits  like,  and  never 
pits  them  together  again.  An'  it  seems  to  me  that  a  body's 
min'  or  soul,  or  Avhatever  it  may  be  called,  — but  it's  jist  a 
body's  ain  sol',  —  can  no  more  be  ta'en  to  pieces  like,  than  you 
could  tak'  that  red  licht  there  oot  o'  the  blue,  or  the  haill  sun- 
set oot  o'  the  heavens  an'  earth.  It  may  be  a'  verra  weel,  Mr. 
Sutherland,  but  oh  !  it's  no  like  this  !  " 

And  Margaret  looked  around  her  from  the  hill-top,  and  then 
up  into  the  heavens,  where  the  stars  were  beginning  to  crack 
the  blue  with  their  thin,  steely  sparkle. 

"  It  seems  to  me  to  tak'  a'  the  poetry  oot  o'  us,  Mr.  Suther- 
land." I 

"  Well,  well,  said  Hugh,  with  a  smile,  "you  must  just  go 
to  W^ordsworth  to  put  it  in  again ;  or  to  set  you  up  again  after 
Dr.  Abercrombie  has  demolished  you." 

"  Na,  na,  sir,  he  shanna  demolish  me  ;  nor  Iwinna  trouble 
Mr.  Wordsworth  to  put  the  poetry  into  me  again.  A'  the 
power  on  earth  shanna  tak'  that  oot  o'  me,  gin  it  be  God's 
will ;  for  it's  his  ain  gift,  Mr.  Sutherland,  ye  ken." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  49 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  Hugh,  who  very  likely 
thought  this  too  serious  a  way  of  speaking  of  poetry,  and 
therefore,  perhaps,  rather  an  irreverent  way  of  speaking  of 
God;  for  he  saw  neither  the  divine  in  poetry,  nor  the  human 
in  God.  Could  he  be  said  to  believe  that  God  made  man,  when 
he  did  not  believe  that  God  created  poetry,  —  and  yet  loved  it 
us  he  did  ?  It  was  to  him  only  a  grand  invention  of  humanity 
in  its  loftiest  development.  In  this  development,  then,  he  must 
have  considered  humanity  as  farthest  from  its  origin;  and  God 
as  the  creator  of  savages,  caring  nothing  for  poets  or  their 
work. 

They  turned,  as  by  common  consent,  to  go  down  the  hill 
together. 

"Shall  I  take  charge  of  the  offending  volume?  You  will 
not  care  to  finish  it,  I  fear,"  said  Hugh. 

"No,  sir,  if  you  please.  I  never  like  to  leave  onything 
unfinished.  I'll  read  ilka  word  in't.  I  fancy  the  thing  'at' 
sets  me  against  it  is  mostly  this  :  that,  readin'  it  alang  wi' 
Euclid,  I  canna  help  aye  thinkin'  o'  my  ain  min'  as  gin  it 
were  in  some  geometrical  shape  or  ither,  whiles  ane  an'  whiles 
anither ;  and  syne  I  try  to  draw  lines  an'  separate  this  power 
frae  that  power,  the  memory  frae  the  jeedgement,  an'  the  im- 
agination frae  the  rizzon  ;  an'  syne  I  try  to  pit  them  a'  thegither 
again  in  their  relations  to  ane  anither.  And  this  aye  takes 
the  shape  o'  some  proposition  or  ither,  generally  i'  the  second 
beuk.  It  near-han'  dazes  me  whiles.  I  fancy  gin'  I  under- 
stood the  pairts  o'  the  sphere,  it  would  be  mair  to  the  purpose  ; 
but  I  wat  I  wish  I  were  clear  o't  a'thegither." 

Hugh  had  had  some  experiences  of  a  similar  kind  himself, 
though  not  at  all  to  the  same  extent.  He  could  therefore  un- 
derstand her. 

"  You  must  just  try  to  keep  the  things  altogether  apart," 
said  he,  "and  not  think  of  the  two  sciences  at  once." 

"  But  I  canna  help  it,"  she  replied.  "  I  suppose  you  can, 
sir,  because  ye're  a  man.  My  father  can  understan'  things  ten 
times  better  nor  me  an'  my  mother.  But  nae  sooner  do  I  be- 
gin to  read  and  think  about  it;  than  up  comes  ane  o'  thae 
parallelograms,  an'  nothing  will  drive't  oot  o'  my  head  again 
but  a  verse  or  twa  o'  Coleridge  or  Wordsworth." 

4 


50  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

Hugh  immcdiatelj  began  to  repeat  the  first  poem  of  the  lat- 
ter that  occurred  to  him  :  — 

"  I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud." 

She  listened,  walking  along  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground ;  and  when  he  had  finished  gave  a  sigh  of  delight  and 
relief,  —  all  the  comment  she  uttered.  She  seemed  never- to 
find  it  necessary  to  say  what  she  felt ;  least  of  all  when  the 
feeling  was  a  pleasant  one ;  for  then  it  was  enough  for  itself 
This  was  only  the  second  time  since  their  acquaintance  tliat 
she  had  spoken  of  her  feelings  at  all ;  and  in  this  case  they 
were  of  a  purely  intellectual  origin.  It  is  to  be  observed, 
however,  that  in  both  cases  she  had  taken  pains  to  explain 
thoroughly  what  she  meant,  as  far  as  she  was  able. 

It  was  dark  before  they  reached  home,  at  least  as  dark  as  it 
ever  is  at  this  season  of  the  year  in  the  north.  They  found 
David  looking  out  with  some  slight  anxiety  for  his  daughter's 
return,  for  she  was  seldom  out  so  late  as  this.  In  nothing 
could  the  true  relation  between  them  have  been  more  evident 
than  in  the  entire  absence  from  her  manner  of  any  embarrass- 
ment when  she  met  her  father.  She  went  up  to  him  and  told 
him  all  about  finding  Mr.  Sutherland  asleep  on  the  hill,  and 
waiting  beside  him  till  he  woke,  that  she  might  walk  home 
with  him.  Her  father  seemed  perfectly  content  with  an  expla- 
nation which  he  had  not  sought,  and,  turning  to  Hugh,  said, 
smiling  :  — 

"  Weel,  no  to  be  troublesome,  Mr.  Sutherlan',  ye  maun  gie 
the  auld  man  a  turn  as  weel  as  the  young  lass.  We  didna 
expec'  ye  the  nicht,  but  I'm  sair  puzzled  wi'  a  sma'  eneuch 
matter  on  my  sklet  in  there.  V/ill  you  no  come  in  and  gie 
me  a  lift  ?  " 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  Sutherland.  So  there  were  five 
lessons  in  that  week. 

When  Hugh  entered  the  cottage  he  had  a  fine  sprig  of  heathei 
in  his  hand,  which  he  laid  on  the  table. 

He  had  the  weakness  of  being  proud  of  small  discoveries,  — 
the  tinier  the  better ;  and  was  always  sharpening  his  senses,  a&i 
well  as  his  intellect,  to  a  fine  point,  in  order  to  make  them. 
I  fear  that  by  these  means  he  shut  out  some  great  ones,  which 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  51 

could  not  enter  during  such  a  concentration  of  the  faculties. 
He  would  stand  listening  to  the  sound  of  goose-feet  upon  the 
road,  and  watch  how  those  webs  laid  hold  of  the  earth  like  a 
hand.  He  Avould  struggle  to  enter  into  their  feelings  in  fold- 
ing  their  wings  properly  on  their  backs.  He  would  calculate, 
on  chemical  and  arithmetical  grounds,  whether  one  might  not 
hear  the  nocturnal  growth  of  plants  in  the  tropics.  He  was 
quite  elated  hj  the  discovery,  as  he  considered  it,  that  Shake- 
speare named  his  two  officers  of  the  watch,  Dogberry  and 
Vei'jicice;  the  poisonous  dogberry,  and  the  acid  liquor  of  green 
fruits,  affording  suitable  names  for  the  stupidly  innocuous  con- 
stables, in  a  play  the  very  essence  of  which  is  ' '  Much  Ado 
about  Nothing."  Another  of  his  discoveries  he  had,  during 
their  last  lesson,  unfolded  to  David,  who  had  certainly  contem- 
plated with  interest.  It  was,  that  the  original  forms  of  the 
Arabic  numerals  were  these  :  — 


/.LJ. 


Q^^^^^ZZ^^ 


the  number  for  which  each  figure  stands  being  indicated  by 
the  number  of  straight  lines  employed  in  forming  that  numeral. 
I  fear  that  the  comparative  anatomy  of  figures  gives  no  counte- 
nance to  the  discovery  which  Hugh  flattered  himself  he  had 
made. 

After  he  had  helped  David  out  of  his  difficulty,  he  took  up 
the  heather,  and,  stripping  off  the  bells,  shook  them  in  his  hand 
at  Marcraret's  ear.  A  half  smile,  like  the  moonlight  of  lauiih- 
ter,  dawned  on  her  face  ;  and  she  listened  with  something  of 
the  same  expression  with  which  a  child  listens  to  the  message 
from  the  sea,  enclosed  in  a  twisted  shell.  He  did  the  same  at 
David's  ear  next. 

"  Eh,  man  !  that's  a  bonny  wee  soun'  !  It's  jist  like  sma' 
sheep-bells  —  fairy-sheep,  I  reckon,  Maggy,  my  doo." 

"  Lat  me  hearken  as  weel,"  said  Janet. 

Hugh  obeyed.     She  laughed. 

"It's  naething  but  a  reestlin'.  I  wad  raither  hear  the  sheep 
baain',  or  the  kye  routin'." 

"Eh,  Mr.  Sutherlan'  !  but  ye  hae  a  gleg  ee  an'  a  sharp 
lug.     Weelj  the  warld's  fu'  o'  bonny  sichts  and  soun's,  doon 


52  DAVID    ELGTNBROD. 

to  tlie  verra  sma'cst.  The  Lord  lats  nacthin'  gang.  I  wadna 
wonner  noo  but  there  micht  be  thousands  sic  like,  ower  snia' 
a'thegither  for  human  ears,  jist  as  we  ken  there  are  creatures 
as  perfect  in  beowtj  as  ony  we  see,  but  far  ower  sma'  for  our 
een  Avintin'  the  glass.  But  for  my  pairt,  I  aye  like  to  see  a 
heap  o'  things  at  ance,  an'  tak'  them  a'  in  thegither,  an'  see 
them  playin'  into  ane  unither's  han'  like.  I  Avas  jist  thinkin', 
as  I  came  hame  the  nicht  in  the  sinset,  hoo  it  wad  hae  been  nae- 
wise  sae  complete,  wi'  a'  its  red  an'  gowd  an'  green,  gin  it 
hadna  been  for  the  cauld  blue  east  ahint  it,  wi'  the  twa-three 
shiverin'  starnies  leukin'  through' t.  An'  doubtless  the  warld 
jO  come  'ill  be  a'  the  warmer  to  them  'at  hadna  ower  muckle 
happin  here.  But  I'm  jist  haverin',  clean  haverin',  Mr. 
Sutherlan',"  concluded  David,  with  a  smile  of  apologetic  hu- 
mor. 

"  I  suppose  you  could  easily  believe  with  Plato,  David,  that 
the  planets  make  a  grand  choral  music  as  they  roll  about  the 
heavens,  only  that  as  some  sounds  are  too  small,  so  that  is  too 
loud  for  us  to  hear." 

"  I  cud  weel  believe  that,"  was  David's  unhesitating  answer. 
Margaret  looked  as  if  she  not  only  could  believe  it,  but  would 
be  delighted  to  know  that  it  was  true.  Neither  Janet  nor 
Hugh  gave  any  indicai.^on  of  feeling  on  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  X. 


HARVEST. 

So  a  small  seed  that  in  the  earth  lies  hid 

And  dies,  reviving,  bursts  her  cloddy  side, 

Adorned  with  yellow  locks,  of  new  is  born. 

And  doth  b^oomo  a  mother  great  with  corn. 

Of  grains  brings  hundreds  with  it,  which  when  old 

£nr;ch  Jhe  rurrows  with  a  sea  of  gold. 

SiH  W:l¥.iam  Drummond.  —  Hymn  of  the  Resurrection. 

Hugh  had  watobed  the  green  corn  grow,  and  ear,  and  turn 
dim;  then  brighten  tv.'*  ye  (low,  and  ripen  at  last  under  the 
declinins:  autumn  sun,  ti.ud  the  low  skirtino;  moon  of  the  har- 


/^^"    OK   ™."^^/\ 

rUlTIVERSITT] 

DAVID    ELaiNBROD),  q^  ftg 

vest,  which  seems  too  full  and  heavy  -^mh:  mellaw-Aiiaboun- 
tiful  li2;ht  to  rise  hio;h  above  the  fields  which  it  comes  to  bless 
with  perfection.  The  long  threads,  on  each  of  which  hung  an 
oat  grain,  —  the  harvest  here  was  mostly  of  oats,  —  had  got 
dry  and  brittle  ;  and  the  grains  began  to  spread  out  their 
chalf-wings,  as  if  ready  to  fly,  and  rustled  with  sweet  sounds 
against  each  other,  as  the  wind,  which  used  to  billow  the  fields 
like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  now  swept  gently  and  tenderly  over 
it,  helping  the  sun  and  moon  in  the  drying  and  ripening  of  the 
joy  to  be  laid  up  for  the  dreary  winter.  Most  graceful  of  all 
hung  those  delicate  oats  ;  next  bowed  the  bearded  barley ;  and 
stately  and  wealthy  and  strong  stood  the  few  fields  of  wdieat, 
of  a  rich,  ruddy,  golden  hue.  Above  the  yellow  harvest  rose 
the  purple  hills,  and  above  the  hills  the  pale-blue  autumnal  sky, 
full  of  lisiht  and  heat,  but  fadino;  somewhat  from  the  color  "with 
which  it  deepened  above  the  vanished  days  of  summer.  For 
the  harvest  here  is  much  later  than  in  England. 

At  length  the  day  arrived  when  the  sickle  must  be  put  into 
the  barley,  soon  to  be  followed  by  the  scythe  in  the  oats.  And 
now  came  the  joy  of  labor.  Everything  else  was  abandoned 
for  the  harvest-field.  Books  were  thrown  utterly  aside  ;  for, 
even  when  there  was  no  fear  of  a  change  of  weather  to  urge  to 
labor  prolonged  beyond  the  natural  hours,  there  was  weariness 
enough  in  the  work  of  the  day  to  prevent  even  David  from 
reading,  in  the  hours  of  bodily  rest,  anything  that  necessitated 
mental  labor. 

Janet  and  Margaret  betook  themselves  to  the  reaping-hook ; 
and  the  somewhat  pale  face  of  the  latter  needed  but  a  single 
day  to  change  it  to  the  real  harvest-hue,  —  the  brown  livery  of 
Ceres.  But  when  the  oats  were  attacked,  then  came  the  tug  of 
war.  The  laird  Avas  in  the  fields  from  morning  to  night,  and 
the  boys  would  not  stay  behind ;  but,  with  their  father's  per- 
mission, much  to  the  tutor's  contentment,  devoted  what  powers 
they  had  to  the  gathering  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth.  Hugh 
himself,  whose  strength  had  grown  amazingly  during  his  stay 
at  Turriepufiit,  and  who,  though  he  was  quite  helpless  at  the 
sickle,  thought  he  could  wield  the  scythe,  would  not  be  behind. 
Throwing  off  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  tying  his  handkerchief 
tight  around  his  loins,  he  laid  hold  on  the  emblematic  weapon 
of  Time  and  Death,  determined  likewise  to  earn  the  name  of 


54  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Reaper.  He  took  the  last  scythe.  It  was  desperate  Av^ork  for 
a  while,  and  he  was  far  behind  the  first  hout ;  but  David,  who 
was  the  best  scythcr  in  the  whole  country-side,  and  of  course 
had  the  leading  scythe,  seeing  the  tutor  dropping  behind,  put 
more  power  into  his  own  arm,  finished  his  bout,  and  brought 
up  Hugh's  before  the  others  had  done  sharpening  their  scythes 
for  the  next. 

"  Tak'  care  an'  nae  rax  yersel'  ower  sair,  Mr.  Sutherlan'. 
Ye' 11  be  up  wi'  the  best  o'  them  in  a  day  or  twa ;  but  gin  ye 
tyauve  at  it  aboon  yer  strenth,  ye'll  be  clean  forfochten.  Tak' 
a  guid  sweep  wi'  the  scythe,  'at  ye  may  hae  the  weicht  o't  to 
ca'  thr6ugh  the  strae,  an'  tak'  nae  shame  at  being  hindmost. 
Here,  Maggy,  my  doo,  come  an'  gather  to  Mr.  Sutherlan'. 
Ane  o'  the  young  gentlemen  can  tak'  your  place  at  the  bin'in'. 
The  work  of  Janet  and  JMargaret  had  been  to  form  bands 
for  the  sheaves,  by  folding  together  cunningly  the  heads  of 
two  small  handfuls  of  the  corn,  so  as  to  make  them  long  enough 
together  to  go  round  the  sheaf;  then  to  lay  this  down  for  the 
gatherer  to  place  enough  of  the  mown  corn  upon  it ;  and  last, 
to  bind  the  band  tightly  around  by  another  skilful  twist  and 
an  insertion  of  the  ends,  and  so  form  a  sheaf.  From  this  work 
David  called  his  daughter,  desirous  of  giving  Hugh  a  gatherer 
who  would  not  be  disrespectful  to  his  awkwardness.  This  ar- 
rangement, however,  Vas  far  from  pleasing  to  some  of  the  young 
men  in  the  field,  and  brought  down  upon  Hugh,  who  was  too 
hard-wrought  to  hear  them  at  first,  many  sly  hits  of  country 
wit  and  human  contempt.  There  had  been  for  some  time 
great  jealousy  of  his  visits  to  David's  cottage  ;  for  Margaret, 
though  she  had  very  little  acquaintance  with  the  young  men 
of  the  neighborhood,  was  greatly  admired  amongst  them,  and 
not  regarded  as  so  far  above  the  station  of  many  of  them  as 
to  render  aspiration  useless.  Their  remarks  to  each  other  got 
louder  and  louder,  till  Hugh  at  last  heard  some  of  them,  and 
could  not  help  being  annoyed,  not  by  their  wit  or  personality, 
but  by  the  tone  of  contempt  in  which  they  were  uttered. 

"  Tak'  care  o'  your  legs,  sir.       It'll    be  ill   cuttin'  upo' 
stumps." 

"  Fegs  !  he's  ta'en  the  wings  afi'  o'  a  pairtrick." 

"  Gin  he  gang  on  that  get,  he'll  cut  twa  bouts  at  ance." 

"  Ye'll  hae  the  scythe  ower  the  dyke,  man.     Tak'  tent." 


DAVID    ELGINBIIOD.  66 

"Losh  !  sir;  ye've  ta'en  aiF  my  leg  at  the  hip!  " 
"  Ye're  shavin'  ower  close;  ye'll  draw  the  bluid,  sir." 
"  Hoot,  man  !   lat  alane.      The   gentleman's  only  mista'en 
his  trade,  an'  imaigins  he's  howkin'  a  grave." 

And  so  on.  Hugh  gave  no  further  sign  of  hearing  their 
remarks  thaii  lay  in  increased  exertion.  Looking  round,  how- 
ever, he  saw  that  Margaret  was  vexed,  evidently  not  for  her 
own  sake.  He  smiled  to  her,  to  console  her  for  his  annoyance ; 
and  then,  ambitious  to  remove  the  cause  of  it,  made  a  fresb 
exertion,  recovered  all  his  distance,  and  was  in  his  own  place, 
with  the  best  of  them  at  the  end  of  the  bout.  But  the  smile 
tliat  had  passed  between  them  did  not  escape  unobserved ;  and 
he  had  aroused  yet  more  the  wrath  of  the  youtlis,  by  threaten- 
ing soon  to  rival  them  in  the  excellences  to  which  they  had  an 
especial  claim.  They  had  regarded  him  as  an  interloper,  who 
had  no  right  to  captivate  one  of  their  rank  by  arts  beyond 
their  reach  ;  but  it  was  still  less  pardonable  to  dare  them  to  a 
trial  of  skill  with  their  own  weapons.  To  the  fire  of  this  jeal- 
ousy, the  admiration  of  the  laird  added  fuel  ;  for  he  was  de- 
lighted with  the  spirit  with  Avhich  Hugh  laid  himself  to  the 
scythe.  I'ut,  all  the  time,  nothing  was  further  from  Hugh's 
thoughts  than  the  idea  of  rivalry  with  them.  Whatever  he 
might  have  thought  of  Margaret  in  relation  to  himself,  he 
never  thought  of  her,  though  laborincr  in  the  same  field  with 
them,  as  in  the  least  degree  belonging  to  their  class,  or  stand- 
ing in  any  possible  relation  to  them,  except  that  of  a  common 
work. 

In  ordinary,  the  laborers  would  have  had  sufficient  respect 
for  Sutherland's  superior  position  to  prevent  them  from  giving 
such  decided  and  articulate  utterance  to  their  feelings.  But 
they  were  incited  by  the  presence  and  example  of  a  man  of 
doubtful  character  from  the  neighboring  village,  a  travelled 
and  clever  ne' er-do-ioeel,  Avhose  reputation  for  wit  was  equalled 
by  his  reputation  for  courage  and  skill  as  well  as  profligacy. 
Roused  by  the  ciFervescence  of  his  genius,  they  Avent  on  from 
one  thing  to  another,  till  Hugh  saw  it  must  be  put  a  stop  to 
somehow,  else  he  must  abandon  the  field.  They  dared  not 
have  gone  so  far  if  David  had  been  present ;  but  he  had  been 
called  away  to  superintend  some  operations  in  another  part  of 
the  estate ;  and  they  paid  no  heed  to  the  expostulations  of  some 


66  DAVID    ELQINBROD. 

of  the  other  older  men.     At  the  close  of  the  clay's  work,  there- 
fore, Hugh  "walked  up  to  this  fellow,  and  said  :  — 

'•I  hope  you  Avill  be  satisfied  with  insulting  me  all  to-day, 
and  leave  it  alone  to-morrow." 

The  man  replied,  with  an  oath  and  a  gesture  of  rude  con- 
tempt :  — 

'"I  dinna  care  the  black  afore  my  nails  for  ony  skelp-doup 
o'  the  lot  o'  ye." 

Hugh's  Highland  blood  flew  to  his  brain,  and,  before  the  ras- 
cal finished  his  speech,  he  had  measured  his  length  on  the 
stubble.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  in  a  fury,  threw  off  the  coat 
which  he  had  just  put  on,  and  darted  at  Hugh,  Avho  had  by 
this  time  recovered  his  coolness,  and  was  besides,  notwithstand-' 
ing  his  unusual  exertions,  the  more  agile  of  the  two.  The 
other  was  heavier  and  more  powerful.  Hugh  sprang  aside,  as 
he  would  have  done  from  the  rush  of  a  bull,  and  again  Avitli  a 
quick  blow  felled  his  antagonist.  Beginning  rather  to  enjoy 
punishing  him,  he  now  went  in  for  it ;  and,  before  the  other 
would  yield,  he  had  rendered  his  next  day's  labor  somewhat 
doubtful.  He  withdrew,  with  no  more  injury  to  himself  than 
a  little  water  would  remove.  Janet  and  Margaret  had  left  the 
field  before  he  addressed  the  man. 

He  went  home  and  to  bed,  —  more  weary  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  his  life.  Before  he  went  to  sleep,  however,  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  say  nothing  of  his  encounter  to  David,  but  to 
leave  him  to  hear  of  it  from  other  sources.  He  could  not  help 
feeling  a  little  anxious  as  to  his  judgment  upon  it.  That  the 
laird  would  approve,  he  hardly  doubted  ;  but  for  his  opinion 
he  cared  very  little. 

"  Dawvid,  I  Avonner  at  ye,"  said  Janet  to  her  husband,  the 
moment  he  came  home,  "  to  lat  the  young  lad  warstle  himsel' 
deid  that  get  wi'  a  scythe.  His  banes  is  but  saft  yet.  There 
"wasna  a  dry  steek  on  him  or  he  wan  half  the  lenth  o"  the  first 
bout.     He's  sair  disjaskit,  I'se  warran'." 

"  Nae  fear  o'  him,  Jatet;  it'll  do  him  guid,  Mr.  Suther- 
lan's  no  feckless  winlestrae  o'  a  creator.  Did  he  baud  his 
ain  at  a'  wi'  the  lave?  " 

"Ilaud  his  ain!  Gin  he  be  fit  for  ony  thing  the  day,  he 
maun  be  pitten  neist  yersel',  or  he'll  cut  the  legs  aff  o'  ony 
ither  man  i'  the  corn." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  ^  57 

A  glow  of  pleasure  mantled  in  Margaret's  face  at  her  moth- 
er's praise  of  Hugh.     Janet  went  on  :  — 

"  But  I  was  jist  clean  affronted  wi'  the  way  'at  the  young 
chields  behaved  themselves  till  him." 

"  I  thocht  I  heard  a  toot-moot  o'  that  kin'  afore  I  left,  but 
I  thocht  it  better  to  tak'  nae  notice  o't.  I'll  be  wi'  je  a'  day 
the  morn  though,  an'  I'm  thinkin'  I'll  clap  a  rouch  han'  on 
their  mou's  'at  I  hear  ony  mair  o't  frae." 

But  there  was  no  occasion  for  interference  on  David's  part. 
Hugh  made  his  appearance,  —  not,  it  is  true,  with  the  earliest 
in  the  hairst-rig,  but  after  breakfast,  with  the  laird,  who  was 
delighted  with  the  way  in  which  he  had  handled  his  scythe  the 
day  before,  and  felt  twice  the  respect  for  him  in  consequeilce. 
It  must  be  confessed  he  felt  very  stiff;  but  the  best  treatment 
for  stiffness  being  the  homoeopathic  one  of  more  work,  he 
had  soon  restored  the  elasticity  of  his  muscles,  and  lubricated 
his  aching  joints.  His  antagonist  of  the  foregoing  evening 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen  ;  and  the  rest  of  the  young  men  were 
shamefaced  and  respectful  enough. 

David,  having  learned  from  some  of  the  spectators  the  facts 
of  the  combat,  suddenly,  as  they  were  walking  home  together, 
held  out  his  hand  to  Hugh,  shook  his  head,  and  said  :  — 

"  Mr.  Sutherlan',  I'm  sair  obleeged  to  ye  for  giein'  that 
vratch,  Jamie  Ogg,  a  guid  doonsettin'.  He's  a  coorse  crater; 
but  the  warst  maun  hae  meat,  an'  sae  I  didna  like  to  refeeso 
him  when  he  cam  for  wark.  But  it's  a  greater  kin'ness  to 
clout  him  nor  to  deed  him.  They  say  ye  made  an'  awfu' 
munsie  o'  him.  But  it's  to  be  houpit  he'll  live  to  thank  ye. 
There's  some  fowk  'at  can  respeck  no  airgument  but  frae  steekit 
neives  ;  an'  it's  fell  cruel  to  baud  it  frae  them,  gin  ye  hae't  to 
gie  them.  I  hae  had  eneuch  ado  to  baud  my  ain  ban's  aff  o' 
the  ted,  but  it  comes  a  hantle  better  frae  you,  Mr.  Suther- 
lan'." 

Hugh  wielded  the  scythe  the  whole  of  the  harvest,  and 
Margaret  gathered  to  him.  By  the  time  it  was  over,  leading- 
home  and  all,  he  measured  an  inch  less  about  the  waist,  and 
two  inches  more  about  the  shoulders  ;  and  was  as  brown  as  a 
berry,  and  as  strong  as  an  ox,  or  "  owse,"  as  David  called  it, 
when  thus  describing  Mr.  Sutherland's  progress  in  corporal 
development ;  for  he  took  a  fatherly  pride  in  the  youth,  to 


68  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

wJiom,  At  the  same  time,  he  looked  up  with  submission,  as  his 
4o.^i,ttd  n  learning. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A    CHANGE    AND    NO    CHANGE. 

Affliction,  when  I  know  it,  is  but  this: 
A  deep  alloy,  whereby  man  tougher  is 
To  bear  the  hammer;  and  the  deeper  still, 
*  We  still  arise  more  imago  of  his  will. 

Sickness,  —  an  humorous  cloud  'twixt  us  and  light; 
And  death,  at  longest,  but  another  night. 
Man  is  his  own  star;  and  that  soul  that  can 
Be  honest  is  the  only  perfect  man. 

John  Fletcheii.  —  Upon  an  Honest  Man's  Fortune. 

HaJj  {Sutherland  been  in  love  with  Margaret,  those  would 
kave  been  bappy  days  ;  and  that  'a  yet  more  happy  night, 
when,  under  the  mystery  of  a  low  moonlight  and  a  gathering 
storm,  the  crop  was  oast  in  haste  into  the  carts,  and  hurried 
home  to  be  built  up  in  safety  ;  when  a  strange  low  wind  crept 
sighing  across  the  stubble,  as  if  it  came  wandering  out  of  the 
past  and  the  land  of  dreams,  lying  far  oflF  and  withered  in  the 
green  west ;  and  when  Margaret  and  he  came  and  went  in  the 
moonlight  like  creatures  in  a  dream,  —  for  the  vapors  of  sleep 
were  floating  in  Hugh's  brain,  although  he  was  awake  and 
working. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  as  they  stood  waiting  a  moment  for 
the  cart  that  was  coming  up  to  be  filled  with  sheaves,  ''  what 
does  that  wind  put  you  in  mind  of?  " 

"  Ossian's  poems,"  replied  Margaret,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

Hugh  was  struck  by  her  answer.  He  had  meant  something 
quite  different.  But  it  harmonized  with  his  feeling  about 
Ossian  ;  for  the  genuineness  of  whose  poetry,  Highlander  as  he 
was,  he  had  no  better  argument  to  give  than  the  fact  that  they 
produced  in  himself  an  altogether  peculiar  mental  condition ; 
that  the  spiritual  sensations  he  had  in  reading  them  were  quite 
different  from  those  produced  by  anything  else,  prose  or  verse ; 


BAVID   ELGINBROD.  59 

in  fact,  that  they  created  moods  of  their  own  in  his  mind.  He 
was  unwilling  to  believe,  apart  from  national  prejudices  (which 
have  not  prevented  the  opinions  on  this  question  from  being  as 
strong  on  the  one  side  as  on  the  other),  that  this  individuality 
of  influence  could  belong  to  mere  affectations  of  a  style  which 
had  never  sprung  from  the  sources  of  real  feeling.  "  Could 
they,"  he  thought,  "  possess  the  power  to  move  us  like  remem- 
bered dreams  of  our  childhood,  if  all  that  they  possessed  of 
reality  was  a  pretended  imitation  of  what  never  existed,  and 
all  that  they  inherited  from  the  past  was  the  halo  of  its 
strangeness?  " 

But  Hugh  was  not  in  love  with  Margaret,  though  he  could 
not  help  feelmg  the  pleasure  of  her  presence.  Any  youth 
must  have  been  the  better  for  having  her  near  him  ;  but  there 
was  nothing  about  her  quiet,  self-contained  being,  free  from 
manifestation  of  any  sort,  to  rouse  the  feelings  commonly  called 
love,  in  the  mind  of  an  inexperienced  youth  like  Hugh  Suther-, 
land.  I  say  commonly  called^  because  I  believe  that  within 
the  whole  sphere  of  intelligence  there  are  no  two  loves  the  same. 
Not  that  he  was  less  easily  influenced  than  other  youths.  A 
designing  girl  might  have  caught  him  at  once,  if  she  had  no 
other  beauty  than  sparkling  eyes ;  but  the  womanhood  of  the 
beautiful  Margaret  kept  so  still  in  its  pearly  cave,  that  it  rarely 
met  the  glance  of  neighboring  eyes.  How  Margaret  regarded 
him  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  think  it  was  with  a  love  almost 
entirely  one  with  reverence  and  gratitude.  Cause  for  grati- 
tude she  certainly  had,  though  less  than  she  supposed ;  and 
very  little  cause  indeed  for  reverence.  But  how  could  she  fail 
to  revere  one  to  whom  even  her  father  looked  up  ?  Of  course 
David's  feeling  of  respect  for  Hugh  must  have  sprung  chiefly 
from  intellectual  grounds ;  and  he  could  hardly  help  seeing,  if 
he  thought  at  all  on  the  subject,  which  is  doubtful,  that  Hugh 
was  as  far  behind  Margaret  in  the  higher  gifts  and  graces,  as 
he  was  before  her  in  intellectual  acquirement.  But  whether 
David  perceived  this  or  not,  certainly  Margaret  did  not  even 
think  in  that  direction.  She  was  pure  of  self-judgment,  —  con- 
scious of  no  comparing  of  herself  with  others,  least  of  all  with 
those  next  her. 

At  length  the  harvest  was  finished  ;  or,  as  the  phrase  of  the 
district  waSj  clyack  was  gotten,  — a  phrase  with  the  derivation. 


60  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

or  even  the  exact  meaning  of  which  I  am  unacquainted; 
knowing  only  that  it  implies  something  in  close  association 
with  the  feast  of  harvest-home,  called  the  Idrn  in  other  parts 
of  Scotland.  Thereafter,  the  fields  lay  bare  to  the  frosts  of 
morning  and  evening,  and  to  the  wind  that  grew  cooler  and 
cooler  with  the  breath  of  Winter,  who  lay  behind  the  northern 
hills,  and  waited  for  his  hour.  But  many  lovely  days  remained, 
of  quiet  and  slow  decay,  of  yellow  and  red  leaves,  of  warm 
noons  and  lovely  sunsets,  followed  by  skies  —  green  from  the 
west  horizon  to  the  zenith,  and  walked  by  a  moon  that  seemed 
to  draw  up  to  her  all  the  white  mists  from  pond  and  river  and 
pool,  to  settle  again  in  hoar-frost  during  the  colder  hours  that 
precede  the  dawn.  At  length  every  leafless  tree  sparkled  in 
the  morning  sun,  incrusted  with  fading  gems  ;  and  the  ground 
was  hard  under  foot ;  and  the  hedges  were  filled  with  frosted 
spider-webs ;  and  winter  had  laid  the  tips  of  his  fingers  on  the 
land,  soon  to  cover  it  deep  with  the  flickering  snow-flakes, 
shaken  from  the  folds  of  his  outspread  mantle.  But  long  ere 
this,  David  and  Margaret  had  returned  with  renewed  diligence, 
and  powers  strengthened  by  repose,  or  at  least  by  intermission, 
to  their  mental  labors,  and  Hugh  was  as  constant  a  visitor  at 
the  cottage  as  before.  The  time,  however,  drew  nigh  Avhen  he 
must  return  to  his  studies  at  Aberdeen ;  and  David  and  Mar- 
garet were  looking  forward  with  sorrow  to  the  loss  of  their  friend. 
Janet,  too,  "  cudna  bide  to  think  o't." 

"  He'll  tak'  the  daylicht  wi'  him,  I  doot.  my  lass,"  she 
said,  as  she  made  the  porridge  for  breakfast  one  morning,  and 
looked  down  anxiously  at  her  daughter,  seated  on  the  creepie 
by  the  ingle-neuk. 

"  Na,  na,  mither,"  replied  Margaret,  looking  up  from  hei 
book  ;  "  he'll  lea'  sic  gifts  ahin'  him  as'll  mak'  daylicht  i'  th« 
dark;  "  and  then  she  bent  her  head  and  went  on  with  her  read- 
ing, as  if  she  had  not  spoken. 

The  mother  looked  away  with  a  sigh  and  a  slight  sad  shak» 
of  the  head. 

But  matters  were  to  turn  out  quite  differently  from  all  antici 
pations.     Before  the  day  arrived  on  which  Ilugh  must  leav« 
for  the  university,  a  letter  from  home  informed  him  that  hit; 
father  was  dangerously  ill.     He  hastened  to  him,  but  only  to 
comfort  his  last  hours  by  all  that  a  son  could  do,  and  to  support 


DAVID    ELGINBROD-  61 

his  mother  by  his  presence  during  the  first  hours  of  her  lone- 
liness. But  anxious  thoughts  for  the  future,  which  so  often 
force  themselves  on  the  attention  of  those  who  would  gladly 
prolong  their  brooding  over  the  past,  compelled  them  to  adopt 
an  alteration  of  their  plans  for  the  present. 

The  half-pay  of  Major  Sutherland  was  gone,  of  course ;  and 
all  that  remained  for  Mrs.  Sutherland  was  a  small  annuity, 
secured  by  her  husband's  payments  to  a  certain  fund  for  the 
use  of  officers'  widows.  From  this  she  could  spare  but  a  mere 
trifle  for  the  completion  of  Hugh's  university  education  ;  while 
the  salary  he  had  received  at  Turriepuffit,  almost  the  whole 
of  which  he  had  saved,  was  so  small  as  to  be  quite  inadequate 
for  the  very  moderate  outlay  necessary.  lie  therefore  came  to 
the  resolution  to  write  to  the  laird,  and  offer,  if  they  were  not 
yet  provided  with  another  tutor,  to  resume  his  relation  to  the 
young  gentlemen  for  the  winter.  It  was  next  to  impossible  to 
spend  money  there;  and  he  judged  that,  before  the  following' 
winter,  he  should  be  quite  able  to  meet  the  expenses  of  his 
residence  at  Aberdeen  during  the  last  session  of  his  course. 
He  would  have  preferred  trying  to  find  another  situation,  had 
it  not  been  that  David  and  Janet  and  Margaret  had  made  there 
a  home  for  him. 

Whether  Mrs.  Glasford  was  altogether  pleased  at  the  pro- 
posal I  cannot  tell ;  but  the  laird  wrote  a  very  gentlemanlike 
epistle,  condoling  with  him  and  his  mother  upon  their  loss,  and 
urging  the  usual  commonplaces  of  consolation.  The  letter 
ended  with  a  hearty  acceptance  of  Hugh's  ofier,  and,  strange 
to  tell,  the  unsolicited  promise  of  an  increase  of  salary  to  the 
amount  of  five  pounds.  This  is  another  to  be  added  to  the 
many  proofs  that  verisimilitude  is  not  in  the  least  an  essential 
element  of  verity. 

He  left  his  mother  as  soon  as  circumstances  would  permit, 
and  returned  to  Turriepuffit ;  an  abode  for  the  winter  very 
difierent  indeed  from  that  in  which  he  had  expected  to  spend 
it. 

He  reached  the  place  early  in  the  afternoon  ;  received  from 
Mrs.  Glasford  a  cold  "I  hope  you're  well,  Mr.  Sutherland;  " 
found  his  pupils  actually  reading,  and  had  from  them  a  wel- 
come rather  boisterously  evidenced ;  told  them  to  get  their 
books:  aad  sat  down  with  them  at  once  to  commence  their 


62  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

winter  labors.  He  spent  two  hours  thus  ;  had  a  hearty  shake 
of  the  hand  from  the  laird,  when  he  came  home ;  and,  after  a 
substantial  tea,  walked  down  to  David's  cottage,  where  a  wel- 
come awaited  him  worth  returning  for. 

"Come  yer  wa's  butt,"  said  Janet,  who  met  him  as  he 
opened  the  door  without  any  prefatory  knock,  and  caught  him 
with  both  hands  ;  "  I'm  blithe  to  see  yer  bonny  face  ance  mair. 
We're  a'  jist  at  ane  mair  wi'  expeckin'  o'  ye." 

David  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  waiting  for  him. 

"  Come  awa',  my  bonny  lad,"  Avas  all  his  greeting,  as  he 
held  out  a  great  fatherly  hand  to  the  youth,  and,  grasping  his 
in  the  one,  clcqjped  him  on  the  shoulder  with  the  other,  the 
water  standing  in  his  blue  eyes  the  while.  Hugh  thought  of 
his  own  father,  and  could  not  restrain  his,  tears.  Margaret 
gave  him  a  still  look  full  in  the  face,  and,  seeing  his  emotion, 
did  not  even  approach  to  offer  him  any  welcome.  She  hastened, 
instead,  to  place  a  chair  for  him  as  she  had  done  when  first  he 
entered  the  cottage,  and  when  he  had  taken  it  sat  down  at  his 
feet  on  her  creepie.  With  true  delicacy,  no  one  took  any 
notice  of  him  for  some  time.     David  said  at  last :  — 

"  An'  hoo's  yer  puir  mother,  Mr.  Sutherlan'  ?  " 

''  She's  pretty  well,"  was  all  Hugh  could  answer. 

"  It's  a  sair  stroke  to  bide,"  said  David  ;  "  but  it's  a  gran' 
thing  whan  a  man's  won  weel  throw't.  Whan  my  father  deit, 
I  min'  weel,  I  was  sae  prood  to  see  him  lyin'  there,  in  the 
cauld  grandeur  o'  deith,  an'  no  man  'at  daured  say  he  ever 
did  or  spak  the  thing  'at  didna  become  him,  'at  I  jist  gloried 
i'  the  mids  o'  my  greetin'.  He  was  but  a  puir  auld  shepherd, 
Mr.  Sutherlan',  wi'  hair  as  white  as  the  sheep  'at  followed 
him  ;  an'  I  wat  as  they  followed  him,  he  followed  the  great 
Shepherd;  an'  followed  an'  followed,  till  he  jist  followed  Him 
hame,  whaur  we're  a'  boun',  an'  some  o'  us  far  on  the  road, 
thanks  to  Him  !  " 

And  with  that  David  rose,  and  got  down  the  Bible,  and, 
opening  it  reverently,  read  with  a  solemn,  slightly  tremulous 
voice,  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel.  When  he 
had  finished,  they  all  rose,  as  by  one  accord,  and  knelt  down, 
and  David  prayed  :  — 

"0  Thou,  in  whase  sicht  oor  deith  is  precious,  an'  no  licht 
maitter;   wha  through  darkness   leads  to  licht,  an'  through 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  68 

deith  to  the  greater  life  !  —  we  canna  believe  that  thou 
wouldst  gie  us  ony  guid  thing,  to  tak'  the  same  again ;  for  that 
NYOuld  be  but  bairns'  play.  We  believe  that  thou  taks,  that 
ihou  may  gie  again  the  same  thing  better  nor  afore  —  mair  o't 
ind  better  nor  we  could  ha'  received  it  itherwise;  jist  as  the 
Lord  took  himsel'  frae  the  sicht  o'  them  'at  lo'ed  him  weel, 
that  instead  o'  bein'  veesible  afore  their  een,  he  micht  hide 
himsel'  in  their  verra  herts.  Come  thou,  an'  abide  in  us,  an' 
tak'  us  to  bide  in  thee ;  an'  syne  gin  we  be  a'  in  thee,  we  canna 
be  that  far  frae  ane  anither,  though  some  sud  be  in  haven,  an' 
some  upo'  earth.  Lord,  help  us  to  do  oor  Avark  like  thy  men 
an'  maidens  doon  the  stair,  remin"in'  oursel's,  at'  them  'at  we 
miss  hae  only  gane  up  the  stair,  as  gin  'twar  to  baud  things  to 
thy  ban'  i'  thy  ain  presence-chaumer,  whaur  we  houp  to  be 
called  or  lang,  an'  to  see  thee  an'  thy  Son,  wham  we  lo'e 
aboon  a'  ;  an'  in  his  name  we  say.  Amen  !  " 

Hugh  rose  from  his  knees  with  a  sense  of  solemnity  and  re- 
ality that  he  had  never  felt  before.  Little  was  said  that  even- 
ing ;  supper  was  eaten,  if  not  in  silence,  yet  with  nothing  that 
could  be  called  conversation. '  And,  almost  in  silence,  David 
walked  home  with  Hugh.  The  spirit  of  his  father  seemed  to 
walk  beside  him.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  been  buried  with  him ; 
and  had  found  that  the  sepulchre  was  clothed  Avith  green 
things  and  roofed  with  stars  ;  was  in  truth  the  heavens  and 
the  earth  in  which  his  soul  Avalked  abroad. 

If  Hugh  looked  a  little  more  into  his  Bible,  and  tried  a  lit- 
tle more  to  understand  it,  after  his  father's  death,  it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at.  It  is  but  another  instance  of  the  fact  that, 
whether  from  education  or  from  the  leading  of  some  higher 
instinct,  we  are  ready,  in  every  more  profound  trouble,  to  feel 
as  if  a  solution  or  a  refuge  lay  somewhere, —  lay  in  sounds  of 
wisdom,  perhaps,  to  be  sought  and  found  in  the  best  of  books, 
the  deepest  of  all  the  mysterious  treasuries  of  words.  But 
David  never  sought  to  influence  Hugh  to  this  end.  He  read 
the  Bible  in  his  family,  but  he  never  urged  the  reading  of  it 
on  others.  Sometimes  he  seemed  rather  to  avoid  the  subject 
of  religion  altogether ;  and  yet  it  was  upon  those  very  occa- 
sions that,  if  he  once  began  to  speak,  he  would  pour  out,  be- 
fore he  ceased,  some  of  his  most  impassioned  utterances. 


64  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Knowledge  bloweth  up,  but  chiiritj'  buildoth  up. 

LoiiD  Bacon's  rendering  of  1  Cor.  -yiii.  1. 

Thin^GS  went  on  as  usual  for  a  few  days,  when  Hugh  began 
to  encounter  a  source  of  suffering  of  a  very  material  and  unro- 
mantic  kind,  but  which,  nevertheless,  had  been  able  before 
now,  namely,  at  the  commencement  of  his  tutorship,  to  cause 
him  a  very  sufficient  degree  of  distress.  It  was  this  :  that  he 
had  no  room  in  which  he  could  pursue  his  studies  in  private 
without  having  to  endure  a  most  undesirable  degree  of  cold. 
In  summer  this  was  a  matter  of  little  moment,  for  the  universe 
might  then  be  his  secret  chamber ;  but  in  a  Scotch  spring  or 
autumn,  not  to  say  winter,  a  bedroom  without  a  fireplace, 
which,  strange  to  say,  was  the  condition  of  his,  was  not  a 
study  in  which  thought  could  operate  to  much  satisfactory  re- 
sult. Indeed,  pain  is  a  far  less  hurtful  enemy  to  thinking 
than  cold.  And  to  have  to  fight  such  sufiering  and  its  be- 
numbing influences,  as  well  as  to  follow  out  a  train  of  reason- 
ing, difficult  at  any  time,  and  requiring  close  attention,  is 
too  much  for  any  machine  whose  thinking  wheels  are  driven 
by  nervous  gear.  Sometimes  —  for  he  must  make  the  at- 
tempt —  he  came  down  to  his  meals  quite  blue  with  cold,  as 
his  pupils  remarked  to  their  mother;  but  their  observation 
never  seemed  to  suggest  to  her  mind  the  necessity  of  making 
some  better  provision  for  the  poor  tutor.  And  Hugh,  after 
the  way  in  which  she  had  behaved  to  him,  was  far  too  proud 
to  ask  of  her  a  favor,  even  if  he  had  had  hopes  •  of  receiving 
his  request.  He  knew  too,  that,  in  the  house,  the  laird,  to 
interfere  in  the  smallest  degree,  must  imperil  far  more  than 
he  dared.  The  prospect,  therefore,  of  the  coming  winter,  in  a 
country  where  there  was  scarcely  any  afternoon,  and  where 
the  snow  might  lie  feet  deep  for  weeks,  was  not  at  all  agreea- 
ble. He  had,  as  I  have  said,  begun  to  suffer  already,  for  the 
mornings  and  evenings  were  cold  enough  now,  although  it  was 
a  bright,  dry  October.  One  evening  Janet  remarked  that  he 
had  caught  cold,  for  he  was  '  hostin''  sair ;  '  and  this  led 
Hugh  to  state  the  discomfort  he  was  condemned  to  experience 
up  at  the  Jid'  house. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD-  65 

'•  Weel,"  said  David,  after  some  silent  deliberation,  "  tliat 
sattles't;  we  maun  set  aboot  it  immcdantlj." 

Of  course  Hugh  Avas  quite  at  a  loss  to  understand  what  he 
meant,  and  begged  him  to  explain. 

"Ye  see,"  replied  David,  "  we  hae  verra  little  hoosc-room 
i'  this  bit  cot;  for,  excep  this  kitchen,  we  hae  but  the  ben 
whaur  Janet  and  me  sleeps  ;  and  sae  last  year  I  spak'  to  the 
laird  to  lat  me  hae  as  muckle  timmer  as  I  Avad  need  to  big  a 
kin'  o'  a  lean-to  to  the  house  ahin',  so  'at  we  micht  hue  a  kin' 
0'  a  bit  parlour  like,  or  rather  a  roomie  'at  onj  o'  us  micht 
retire  till  for  a  bit,  gin  we  Avanted  to  be  oor  lanes.  He  had 
nae  objections,  honest  man.  But  somehoo  or  ither  I  never  set 
han'  till't ;  but  noo  the  Ava's  maun  be  up  afore  the  Avat  Aveathcr 
sets  in.  Sae  I'se  be  at  it  the  morn,  an'  maybe  ye'll  len'  me 
a  han',  Mr.  Sutherlan',  and  tak'  oot  yer  Avages  in  house- 
room  an'  firin'  efter  its  dune."' 

"Thank  you  heartily!"  said  Hugh;  "  that  would  be  de- 
lightful. It  seems  too  good  to  be  possible.  But  Avill  not 
wooden  walls  be  rather  a  poor  j^rotection  against  such  Avinters 
as  I  suppose  you  have  in  these  parts?  " 

"  Hootoot,  Mr.  Sutherlan',  ye  micht  gie  me  credit  for  rai- 
ther  mair  rumgumption  nor  that  comes  till.  Timmer  Avas  the 
only  thing  I  not  {needed)  to  spier  for ;  the  lave  lies  to  ony 
body's  han', —  a  few  cartfu's  o'  sods  frae  the  hill  ahint  the 
hoose,  an'  a  han'fu'  or  tAA'a  o'  stanes  for  the  chimla  oot  o'  the 
quarry, —  there's  eneuch  there  for  oor  turn  ohn  blastit  mair; 
an'  we'll  saw  the  wood  oursel's ;  an'  gin  we  had  ance  the  wa's 
up,  we  can  carry  on  the  inside  at  oor  leisur'.  That's  the  way 
'at  the  Maker  does  Avi'  oorsels;  he  gie's  us  the  Ava's  an  the 
material,  an'  a  whole  lifetime,  maybe  mair,  to  furnish  the  hoose." 

"  Capital !  "  exclaimed  Hugh.  "I'll  Avork  like  a  horse,  and 
we'll  be  at  it  the  morn." 

"I'se  be  at  it  afore  daylicht,  an^  ane  or  twa  o'  the  lads'll 
len'  me  a  han'  efter  wark-hours;  and  there's  yersel',  Mr, 
Sutherlan',  worth  ane  an'  a  half  o'  ordinary  Avorkers ;  an 
well  hae  truflf  aneuch  for  the  aaVs  in  a  jiffcy.  I'll  mark  a 
feow  saplin's  i'  the  Avud  here  at  denner-time,  and  Ave"ll  hae 
them  for  bauks,  an'  couples,  an'  things ;  an'  there's  plenty  dry 
eneuch  for  beurds  i'  the  shed,  an'  bein'  but  a  lean-to,  there'll 
be  but  half  Avark,  ye  ken." 

6 


66  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

Thej  went  out  directly,  in  the  moonlight,  to  choose  the  sj.ot; 
and  soon  came  to  the  resolution  to  build  it  so  that  a  certain 
back  door,  which  added  more  to  the  cold  in  winter  than  to  the 
convenience  in  summer,  should  be  the  entrance  to  the  new 
chamber.  The  chimney  was  the  chief  difficulty ;  but  all  the 
materials  being  in  the  immediate  neighborhood,  and  David 
capable  of  turning  his  hands  to  anything,  no  obstruction  was 
feared.  Indeed,  he  set  about  that  part  first,  as  was  necessary ; 
and  had  soon  built  a  small  chimney,  chiefly  of  stones  and  lime; 
while,  under  his  directions,  the  walls  were  making  progress  at 
the  same  time,  by  the  labor  of  Hugh  and  two  or  three  of  the 
young  men  from  the  farm,  who  were  most  ready  to  oblige 
David  with  their  help,  although  they  were  still  rather  unfriend- 
ly to  the  colllgine}',  as  they  called  him.  But  Plugh's  frank- 
ness soon  won  them  over,  and  they  all  formed  Avithin  a  day  or 
two  a  very  comfortable  party  of  laborers.  They  worked  very 
hard ;  for  if  the  rain  should  set  in  before  the  roof  was  on, 
their  labor  would  be  almost  lost  from  the  soaking  of  the  walls. 
They  built  them  of  turf,  very  thick,  with  a  slight  slope  on  the 
outside  tOAvards  the  roof;  before  commencing  which,  they  par- 
tially cut  the  windows  out  of  the  walls,  putting  wood  across  to 
support  the  top.  I  should  have  explained  that  the  turf  used  in 
bu'.lding  was  the  upper  and  coarser  part  of  the  peat,  which 
wa?,  plentiful  in  the  neighborhood.  The  thatch-eaves  of  the 
cottage  itself  projected  over  the  joining  of  the  new  roof,  so  as 
to  protect  it  from  the  drip ;  and  David  soon  put  a  thick  thitch 
of  new  straw  upon  the  little  building.  Second-hand  windows 
were  procured  at  the  village,  and  the  holes  in  the  walls  cut  to 
their  size.  They  next  proceeded  to  the  saw-pit  on  the  estate, 
- —  for  almost  everything  necessary  for  keeping  up  the  offices 
was  done  on  the  farm  itself,  —  where  they  sawed  thin  planks 
of  deal,  to  floor  and  line  the  room,  and  make  it  more  cosey. 
These  David  planed  upon  tne  side  ;  and  when  they  were  nailed 
against  slight  posts  all  round  the  Avails,  and  the  joints  filled  in 
with  putty,  the  room  began  to  look  most  enticingly  habitable. 
The  roof  had  not  been  thatched  two  days  before  the  rain  set 
in ;  but  noAV  they  could  Avork  quite  comfortably  inside ;  and  as 
the  space  was  small,  and  the  /orerdghts  Avere  long,  they  had 
it  quite  finished  before  the  end  of  November.  David  bought 
an  old  table  in  the  village,  and  one  or  two  chairs ;  mended  them 


DAVID    ELUINBROD.  07 

up ;  made  a  kind  of  rustic  sofa  or  settle  ;  put  a  few  book-shelves 
against  the  wall ;  had  a  peat  fire  lighted  on  the  hearth  every 
daj ;  and  at  length,  one  Saturday  evening,  they  had  supper  in 
the  room,  and  the  place  was  consecrated  henceforth  to  friend- 
ship and  learning.  From  this  time,  every  evening,  as  soon  as 
lessons,  and  the  meal  which  immediately  followed  them,  were 
over,  Hugh  betook  himself  to  the  cottage,  on  the  shelves  of 
which  all  his  books  by  degrees  collected  themselves,  and  there 
spent  the  whole  long  evening,  generally  till  ten  o'clock ;  the 
first  part  alone,  reading  or  writing  ;  the  last  in  company  with 
his  pupils,  who,  diligent  as  ever,  now  of  course  made  more 
rapid  progress  than  before,  inasmuch  as  the  lessons  were  both 
longer  and  more  frequent.  The  only  drawback  to  their  com- 
fort was,  that  they  seemed  to  have  shut  Janet  out ;  but  she 
soon  remedied  this,  by  contriving  to  get  through  with  her 
house-work  earlier  than  she  had  ever  done  before ;  and,  taking 
her  place  on  the  settle  behind  them,  knitted  away  diligently  at 
her  stocking,  which,  to  inexperienced  eyes,  seemed  always  the 
same,  and  always  in  the  same  state  of  progress,  notwithstanding 
that  she  provided  the  hose  of  the  whole  family,  blue  and  gray, 
ribbed  and  plain.  Her  occasional  withdrawings,  to  observe  the 
progress  of  the  supper,  were  only  a  cheerful  break  in  the  con- 
tinuity of  labor.  Little  would  the  passer-by  imagine  that  beneath 
that  roof,  which  seemed  worthy  only  of  the  name  of  a  shed,  there 
sat,  in  a  snug  little  homely  room,  such  a  youth  as  Hugh,  such  a 
girl  as  Margaret,  such  a  grand  peasant  king  as  David,  and  such 
a  true-hearted  mother  to  them  all  as  Janet.  There  were  no 
pictures  and  no  music ;  for  Margaret  kept  her  songs  for  solitary 
places ;  but  the  sound  of  verse  was  often  the  living  wind  which 
set  a~waving  the  tops  of  the  trees  of  knowledge,  fast  growing  in 
the  sunlight  of  Truth.  The  thatch  of  that  shed-roof  was  like 
the  grizzled  hair  of  David,  beneath  which  lay  the  temple  not 
only  of  holy  but  of  wise  and  poetic  thought.  It  was  like  the 
sylvan  abode  of  the  gods,  where  the  architecture  and  music  are 
all  of  their. own  making;  in  their  kind  the  more  beautiful,  the 
more  simple  and  rude ;  and  if  more  doubtful  in  their  intent, 
and  less  precise  in  their  finish,  yet  therein  the  fuller  of  life 
and  its  grace,  and  the  more  suggestive  of  deeper  harmo- 
nies. 


68  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER    XIIL 

HERALDKY. 

'  And  like  his  father  of  i"aco  and  of  stature, 

And  false  of  love  —  it  camo  him  of  nature; 
As  doth  the  fox  Renard,  the  fox's  son; 
Of  Iviudo,  he  coud  liis  old  father's  wone, 
Without  lore,  as  can  a  drake  swim, 
When  it  is  caught,  and  carried  to  the  brim. 

Chaucer.  —  Legend  cf  Phillis. 

Of  course,  the  yet  more  lengthened  absences  of  Hugh  frou, 
the  house  were  subjects  of  remark  as  at  the  first;  but  Hugh 
had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  trouble  himself  the  least  about 
that.  For  some  time  Mrs.  Glasford  took  no  notice  of  them  to 
himself;  but  one  evening,  just  as  tea  Avas  finished,  and  Hugh 
was  rising  to  go,  her  restraint  gave  way,  and  she  uttered  one 
spiteful  speech,  thinking  it,  no  doubt,  so  witty  that  it  ought  to 
see  the  light. 

"Ye' re  a  day -laborer  it  seems,  Mr.  Sutherlan',  an'  gang 
hame  at  night." 

"Exactly  so,  madam,"  rejoined  Hugh.  "There  is  no 
other  relation  between  you  and  me  than  that  of  work  and 
wages.  You  have  done  your  best  to  convince  me  of  that,  by 
making  it  impossible  for  me  to  feel  that  this  house  is  in  any 
sense  my  home." 

With  this  grand  speech  he  left  the  room,  and  from  that  time 
till  the  day  of  his  final  departure  from  Turriepuffit  there  was 
not  a  single  allusion  made  to  the  subject. 

He  soon  reached  the  cottage.  When  he  entered  the  new 
room,  which  was  always  called  3Ir.  Sutherland's  stud//,  the 
mute  welcome  afforded  him  by  the  signs  of  expectation,  in  the 
glow  of  the  waiting  fire,  and  the  outspread  arms  of  the  elbow- 
chair,  which  was  now  called  his,  as  well  as  the  room,  made 
ample  amends  to  him  for  the  unfriendliness  of  Mrs.  Glasford. 
Going  to  the  shelves  to  find  the  books  he  wanted,  he  saw  that 
they  had  been  carefully  arranged  on  one  shelf,  and  that  the 
others  were  occupied  with  books  belonging  to  the  house.  He 
looked  at  a  few  of  them.  They  were  almost  all  old  books,  and 
such  as  may  be  found  in  many  Scotch  cottages ;  for  instance, 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  69 

Boston's  "Fourfold  State,"  in  which  the  ways  of  God  and 
man  may  be  seen  through  a  fourfold  fog  ;  Erskine's  '•'  Divine 
Sonnets,"  which  will  repay  the  reader  in  laughter  for  the  pain 
it  costs  his  reverence,  producing  much  the  same  effect  that  a 
Gothic  cathedral  might,  reproduced  by  the  pencil  and  from  the 
remembrance  of  a  Chinese  artist,  who  had  seen  it  once ; 
"  Drelincourt  on  Death,"  with  the  famous  ghost-hoax  of  De 
Foe,  to  help  the  bookseller  to  the  sale  of  the  unsalable ;  the 
"  Scots  Worthies,"  opening  of  itself  at  the  memoir  of  Mr. 
Alexander  Peden;  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  that  wonderful 
inspiration,  failing  never  save  when  the  theologian  ivoidd 
sometimes  snatch  the  pen  from  the  hand  of  the  poet ;  ' '  Theron 
and  Aspasio;"  "Village  Dialogues;"  and  others  of  a  like 
class.  To  these  must  be  added  a  rare  edition  of  "  Blind  Ilai'- 
ry."  It  was  clear  to  Hugh,  unable  as  he  was  fully  to  appre- 
ciate the  wisdom  of  David,  that  it  was  not  from  such  books  as 
these  that  he  had  gathered  it ;  yet  such  books  as  these  formed 
all  his  store.  lie  turned  from  them,  found  his  own,  and  sat 
down  to  read.      By  and  by  David  came  in. 

"I'm  ower  sune,  I  doubt,  Mr.  Sutherlan'.     I'm  disturbin' 

ye." 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  Hugh.  "Besides,  I  am  not  muck 
in  a  reading  mood  this  evening ;  Mrs.  Glasford  has  been  an- 
noying me  again." 

"Poor  body  !     What's  she  been  sayin'  noo?  " 

Thinking  to  amuse  David,  Hugh  recounted  the  short  pas- 
sage between  them  recorded  above.  David,  however,  listened 
with  a  very  different  expression  of  countenance  from  what 
Hugh  had  anticipated ;  and,  when  he  had  finished,  took  up  the 
conversation  in  a  kind  of  apologetic  tone. 

"  Weel,  but  ye  see,"  said  he,  folding  his  palms  together, 
"she  hasna'  jist  had  a'thegither  fair  play.  She  does  na  come 
o'  a  guid  breed.  Man,  it's  a  fine  thing  to  come  o'  a  guid 
breed.  They  hae  a  hantle  to  answer  for  'at  come  o'  decent 
forbears. ' ' 

"  I  thought  she  brought  the  laird  a  good  property,"  said 
Hugh,  not  quite  understanding  David. 

"  Ow,  ay,  she  brocht  him  gowpenfu's  o'  siller;  but  hoo 
was't  gotten  ?  An'  ye  ken  it's  no  riches  'at  'ill  mak'  a  guid 
breed  —  'cep'  it  be  o'  maggots.     The  richer  cheese  the  mair 


70  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

maggots,  ye  ken.  Ye  mauna  spcyk  o'  this  ;  but  the  mistress's 
father  Avas  weel  kent  to  hae  made  his  siller  bj  fardins  and 
bawbees,  in  creepin',  crafty  ways.  He  was  a  bit  merchan'  in 
Aberdeen,  an'  aye  keepit  his  thoom  wcel  ahint  the  point  o'  the 
ell  wan',  sae  'at  he  made  an  inch  or  twa  upo'  ilka  yard  he 
sauld.  Sae  he  took  fi'ae  his  soul,  and  pat  intill  his  siller-bag, 
an'  had  little  to  gie  his  dochter  but  a  guid  tocher.  Mr.  Suth- 
erlan',  it's  a  fine  thing  to  come  o'  dacent  fowk.  Noo,  to  luik 
at  yersel'  ;  I  ken  naething  aboot  ycr  f  imily ;  but  ye  seem  at 
eesicht  to  come  o'  a  guid  breed  for  the  bodily  part  for  ye. 
That's  a  sma'  matter ;  but  frae  what  I  hae  seen  —  an'  I  trust 
in  God  I'm  no  mista'en — ye  come  o'  the  richt  breed  for  the 
min'  as  weel.  I'm  no  flatterin'  ye,  Mr.  Sutherlan' ;  but  jist 
layin'  it  upo'  ye,  'at  gin  ye  had  an  honest  father  and  gran'fa- 
ther,  an'  especially  a  guid  mither,  ye  hae  a  heap  to  answer 
for  ;  an'  ye  ought  never  to  be  hard  upo'  them  'at's  sma'  creep- 
in'  creatures,  for  they  canna  help  it  sae  weel  as  the  like  o'  you 
and  me  can." 

David  was  not  given  to  boasting.  Hugh  had  never  heard  any- 
thing suggesting  it  from  his  lips  before.  He  turned  full  round 
and  looked  at  him.  On  his  face  lay  a  solemn  quiet,  either 
from  a  feeling  of  his  own  responsibility,  or  a  sense  of  the  ex- 
cuse that  must  be  made  for  others.  What  he  had  said  about 
signs  of  breed  -in  Hugh's  exterior  certainly  applied  to  himself 
as  well.  His  carriage  was  full  of  dignity,  and  a  certain  rustic 
refinement ;  his  voice  was  wonderfully  gentle,  but  deep ;  and 
slowest  when  most  impassioned.  He  seemed  to  have  come  of 
some  gigantic  antediluvian  breed ;  there  was  something  of  the 
Titan  slumberincr  about  him.  He  would  have  been  a  stern 
man,  but  for  an  unusual  amount  of  reverence  that  seemed  to 
overflood  the  sternness,  and  change  it  into  strong  love.  No 
one  had  ever  seen  him  thoroughly  angry  ;  his  simple  displeas- 
ure with  any  of  the  laborers,  the  quality  of  whose  work  was 
deficient,  would  go  further  than  the  laird's  oaths. 

Hugh  sat  looking  at  David,  who  supported  the  l^ok  with 
that  perfect  calmness  that  comes  of  unconscious  simplicity. 
At  length  Hugh's  eye  sank  before  David's,  as  he  said  :  — 

"  I  wMsh  I  had  known  yom^  f^^ither,  then,  David." 

"  My  father  was  sic  a  ane  as  I  tauld  ye  the  ither  day,  Mr. 
Sutherlan'.     I'm  a'  richt  there.     A  puir,  semple,  God-fearin' 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  71 

shepherd,  'at  never  gae  his  dog  an  ill-deserved  word,  nor  took 
the  skin  o'  ony  puir  lammie,  wha's  woo'  he  was  clippin', 
atween  the  shears.  He  was  weel  worthy  o'  the  grave  'at  lie 
wan  till  at  last.  An'  my  mither  was  jist  sic  like,  wi'  aiblins 
raither  mair  heid  nor  my  father.  They're  her  beuks  maistly 
upo'  the  skelf  there  abune  yer  ain,  Mr.  Sutherlan'.  I  honor 
them  for  her  sake,  though  I  seldom  trouble  them  mysel'. 
She  gae  me  a  kin'  o'  a  scunner  at  them,  honest  woman,  wi' 
garrin'  me  read  at  them  o'  Sundays,  till  they  near  scomfisht 
a'  the  guid  'at  was  in  me  by  nater.  There's  doctrine  for  ye, 
Mr.  Sutherlan' !  "  added  David,  with  a  queer  laugh. 

"I  thought  that  they  could  hardly  be  your  books,"  said 
Hugh. 

"  But  I  hae  ae  odd  beuk,  an'  that  brings  me  upo'  my  pedi- 
gree, Mr.  Sutherlan' :  for  the  puirest  man  has  as  lang  a  pedi- 
gree as  the  greatest,  only  he  kens  less  aboot  it,  that's  a'.  An' 
I  wat,  for  yer  lords  and  ladies,  it's  no  a'  to  their  credit  'at's  * 
tauld  o'  their  hither-come ;  an'  that's  a'  against  the  breed,  ye  1- 
ken.  A  wilfu'  sin  in  the  father  may  be  a  sinfu'  weakness 
i'  the  son  ;  an'  that's  what  I  ca'  no  fair  play." 

So  saying,  David  went  to  his  bedroom,  whence  he  returned 
with  a  very  old-looking  book,  which  he  laid  on  the  table  before 
Hugh.  He  opened  it,  and  saw  that  it  Avas  a  volume  of  Jacob 
Boehmen,  in  the  original  lanoi;uao;e.  He  found  out  afterwards, 
upon  further  inquiry,  that  it  was  in  fact  a  copy  of  the  first 
edition  of  his  first  work,  "  The  Aurora."  printed  in  1612.  On 
the  title-page  was  written  a  name,  either  in  German  or  Old 
English  character,  he  was  not  sure  which  ;  but  he  was  able  to 
read  it,  —  Martin  Elginhrodde.  David,  having  given  him 
time  to  see  all  this,  went  on :  — 

'"That  buik  has  been  in  oor  family  far  langer  nor  I  ken. 
I  needna  say  I  canna  read  a  word  o't,  nor  I  never  heard  o'  ano 
'at  could.  But  I  canna  help  tellin'  ye  a  curious  thing,  Mr. 
Sutherlan',  in  connection  wi'  the  name  on  that  buik  ;  there's 
a  gra^stane,  a  verra  auld  ane,  —  hoo  auld  I  canna  weel  mak' 
out,  though  I  gaed  ends-errand  to  Aberdeen  to  see't,  —  an'  the 
name  upo'  that  gravestane  is  Martin  Elginbrod^  but  made 
mention  o'  in  a  stran2;e  fashion ;  an'  I'm  no  sure  a'theirither 
aboot  hoo  ye' 11  tak'  it,  for  it  soun's  rather  fearsome  at  first 
hearin'  o't.     But  ye'se  hae't  as  I  read  it :  — 


72  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  '  Here  lie  I,  Martin  Elginbroddo: 
Hao  mercy  o'  my  soul,  Lord  God; 
As  I  wail  do,  wore  I  fjord  God, 
And  yo  wore  Martin  E'.^inbroddo.'  " 

Certainlj  Hugh  could  not  help  a  slight  shudder  at  what 
seemed  to  him  the  irreverence  of  the  e])itaph,  if,  indeed,  it 
was  not  deserving  of  a  worse  epithet.  But  he  made  no  re- 
mark ;   and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  David  resumed  : — 

"  I  was  unco  ill-pleased  wi't  at  the  first,  as  ye  may  suppose, 
Mr.  Sutherlan' ;  but,  after  a  while,  I  ])egude  {be/jau)  an'  gaed 
throuo-h  twa  or  three  bits  o'  reasonin's  aboot  it  in  this  way : 
By  the  natur'  o't,  this  maun  be  the  man's  ainmakin',  this  epi- 
taph; for  no  ither  body  cud  hae  dune't;  and  he  had  left  iUin's 
will  to  be  pitten  upo'  the  deid-stane,  nae  doot.  I'  the  contem- 
plation o'  deith,  a  man  wad  no  be  lik'ly  to  desire  the  perpetu- 
ation o'  a  blasphemy  upo'  a  talile  o'  stone,  to  stan'  against  him 
for  centuries  i'  the  face  o'  God  an'  man ;  therefore  it  cudna 
ha'  borne  the  luik  to  him  o'  the  presumptuous  word  o'  a  proud 
man  evenin'  himsel'  wi'  the  Almichty.  Sae  what  was't,  then, 
'at  made  him  mak'  it  ?  It  seems  to  mo,  —  though  I  confess,  Mr. 
Sutherlan',  I  may  be  led  astray  by  the  nateral  desire  'at  a  man 
has  to  think  weel  o'  his  ain  forbears, — for  'at  he  was  a  forbear 
o'  my  ain,  I  canna  weel  doot,  the  name  bein'  by  no  means  a 
common  ane,  in  Scotland,  onyway,  — I'm  saying,  it  seems  to 
me,  that  it's  jist  a  darin'  way,  maybe  a  childlike  way,  o'  judg- 
in',  as  Job  micht  ha'  dune,  '  the  Lord  by  himsel';  '  an'  sayin', 
'at  gin  he,  Martin  Elginbrod,  wad  hae  mercy,  surely  the  Lord 
was  not  less  mercifu'  than  he  was.  The  offspring  o'  the  Most 
High  was,  as  it  were,  avfarc  o'  the  same  spirit  i'  the  father  o' 
him,  as  rauved  in  himsel'.  He  felt  'at  the  mercy  in  himsel' 
was  ane  o'  the  best  things;  an'  he  cudna  think  'at  there  wad 
be  less  o't  i'  the  Father  o'  lichts,  frae  whom  cometh  ilka  guid 
an'  perfeck  gift.  An'  maybe  he  remembered  'at  the  Saviour 
himsel'  said,  '  Be  ye  perfect  as  your  Father  in  heaven  is  per- 
fect;' and. that  the  perfection  o'  God,  as  he  had  jist  pinted 
cot  afore,  consisted  in  causin'  his  bonny  sun  to  shine  on  the 
evil  an'  the  good,  an'  his  caller  rain  to  fa'  upo'  the  just  an'' 
the  unjust." 

It  may  well  be  doubted  whether  David's  interpretation  of 
the  epitaph  was  the  correct  one.  It  will  appear  to  most  of 
my  readers  to  breathe  rather  of  doubt  lighted  up  by  hope, 


DAVID    ELGINBHOD.  73 

ihan  of  that  strong  faith  which  David  read  in  it.  But  whether 
from  family  partiality,  and  consequent  unwillingness  to  be- 
lieve that  his  ancestor  had  been  a  man  who,  having  led  a  wild, 
erring,  and  evil  life,  turned  at  last  towards  the  mercj  of  God 
as  his  only  hope,  which  the  words  might  imply,  or  simply 
that  he  sa^y  this  meaning  to  be  the  best,  this  was  the  inter- 
pretation which  David  had  adopted. 

"But,"  interposed  Hugh,  "  supposing  he  thought  all  that, 
why  should  he  therefore  have  it  carved  on  his  tombstone?  " 

' '  I  hao  thocht  aboot  that  too, ' '  answered  David.  ' '  For  ae 
thing,  a  body  has  but  feow  ways  o'  sayin'  his  say  to  his  brith- 
er-men.  Robbie  Burns  cud  do't  in  sang  efter  sang ;  but  may- 
be this  epitaph  was  a'  that  auld  Martin  was  able  to  mak'.  He 
michtnahae  had  the  gift  o'  utterance.  But  there  may  be  mair 
in't  nor  that.  Gin  the  clergy  o'  thae  times  warna  a  gey  han- 
tle  mair  enlichtened  nor  a  fowth  o'  the  clergy  hereabouts,  he 
wad  hae  heard  a  heap  aboot  the  glory  o'  God,  as  the  thing  'at ' 
God  himsel'  wasmaistanxiousabootuphaudin',  jist  like  a  prood 
Greater  o'  a  king ;  an'  that  he  wad  mak'  men,  an'  feed  them, 
an'  deed  them,  an'  gie  them  braw  wives  an'  toddliu'  bairnies, 
an'  syne  damn  them,  a'  for's  ain  glory.  Maybe  ye  wadna  get 
many  o'  them  'at  wad  speyk  sae  fair-oot  nooadays,  for  they 
gang  wi'  the  tide  jist  like  the  lave ;  but  i'  my  auld  minny's 
buiks,  I  hae  read  jist  as  muckle  as  that,  an'  waur  too.  Mony 
ane  'at  spak'  like  that  had  nae  doot  a  guid  meanin'  in't;  but, 
hech,  man  !  it's  a  awsome  dieevilich  way  o'  saying  a  holy  thing. 
Noo,  what  better  could  puir  auld  Martin  do,  seein'  he  had  no 
ae  word  to  say  i'  the  kirk  a'  his  lifelang,  nor  jist  say  his  ae 
word,  as  pithily  as  micht  be,  i'  the  kirkyard  efter  he  was  deid ; 
an'  ower  an'  ower  again,  wi'  a  tongue  o'  stane,  lat  them  tak' 
it  or  lat  it  alane  'at  likit  ?  That's  a'  my  defence  o'  my  auld 
luckie-daddy.     Heaven  rest  his  brave  auld  soul !  " 

"  But  are  we  not  in  dano-er,"  said  HuGjh,  "  of  thinking;  too 
lightly  and  familiarly  of  the  Maker,  when  we  proceed  to  judge 
him  so  by  ourselves  ?  " 

"Mr.  Sutherlan',"  replied  David,  v^ery  solemnly,  "I  dinna 
thenk  I  can  be  in  muckle  danger  o'  lichlyin'  him,  whan  I  ken 
in  my  ain  sel',  as  weel  as  she  'at  was  healed  o'  her  plague,  'at 
I  wad  be  a  horse  i'  that  pleuch,  or  a  pig  in  that  stye,  not 
merely  if  it  was  his  will,  —  for  wha  can  stan'  against  that  ?  — 


74  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

but  if  it  -was  for  liis  glory ;  ay,  an'  comfort  mysel',  a'  the  time 
the  cliange  was  passiii'  upo'  me,  wi'  the  thocht  that,  efter  an' 
a',  his  blessed  ban's  made  the  pigs  too," 

"But,  a  moment  ago,  David,  you  seemed  to  me  to  be  making 
rather  little  of  his  glory." 

"  0'  his  glory,  as  they  consider  glory  —  ay;  efter  a  warldly 
fashion  tliats  no  better  nor  pride,  an'  in  him  would  only  be  a 
greater  pride.  But  his  glory !  consistin'  in  his  trowth  an' 
lovin'-kindness — (man!  that  s  a  bonny  word) — an' grand 
solf-forgettin'  devotion  to  his  creators  —  lord  !  man,  it's  un- 
speakable. I  care  little  for  his  glory  either,  gin  by  that  ye 
mean  the  praise  o'  men.  A  heap  o'  the  anxiety  for  the  spread 
o'  his  glory  seems  to  me  to  be  but  a  desire  for  the  sempathy  o' 
itlier  fowk.  There's  no  fear  but  men'll  praise  him,  a'  in  guid 
time,  — that  is,  whan  they  can.  But,  Mr.  Sutherlan',  for  the 
glory  o'  God,  raither  than,  if  it  were  possible,  one  jot  or  one  tittle 
should  fail  of  his  entire  perfection  of  holy  beauty,  I  call  God  to 
witness,  I  would  gladly  go  to  hell  itsel' ;  for  no  evil  worth  the 
fall  name  can  befall  the  earth  or  ony  creator  in't  as  long  as 
God  is  what  he  is.  For  the  glory  o'  God,  Mr.  Sutherlan',  I 
wad  die  the  deith.  For  the  will  o'  God,  I'm  ready  for  ony- 
thing  he  likes.  I  canna  surely  be  in  muckle  danger  o"lichtlyin' 
him.     I  glory  in  my  God." 

The  almost  passionate  earnestness  with  which  David  spoke 
would  alone  have  made  it  impossible  for  Hugh  to  reply  at  onQ,e. 
After  a  few  moments,  however,  he  ventured  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion :  — 

"  Would  you  do  nothing  that  other  people  should  know  God, 
then,  David?" 

"  Ony  thing  'at  he  likes.  But  I  would  fak'  tent  o'  interferin'. 
lie's  at  it  himsel'  frae  mornin'  to  nicht,  frae  year's  en'  to 
year's  en'." 

' '  But  you  seem  to  me  to  make  out  that  God  is  nothing  but 
love  !  " 

-*'  Ay,  naething  but  love.     What  for  no?  " 

"  Because  we  are  told  he  is  just." 

"  Would  he  be  lang  just  if  he  didna  lo'e  us  ?  " 

"  But  doe.s  he  not  punish  sin?  " 

"  Would  it  be  ony  kiu'ness  no  to  punish  sin?  No  to  use  a' 
means  to  pit  awa'  the  ae  ill  thing  frae  us  ?     Whatever  may  be 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  75 

meant  by  the  place  o'  meeserj,  clepen'  upo't,  Mr.  Sutherlan', 
it's  onl J  anither  form  o'  love,  love  sliinin'  through  the  fogs  o'  ill, 
an"  s.ie  gart  leuk  something  verra  different  thereby.  Man,  raither 
nor  see  my  Maggy,  —  an'  ye'llno  doot  'atllo'e  her,  — raither 
nor  see  my  Maggy  do  an  ill  thing,  I'd  see  her  lyin'  deid  at 
my  feet.  But  supposin'  the  ill  thing  ance  dune,  it's  no  at  my 
feet  I  Avad  lay  her,  but  upo'  my  heart,  wi'  my  auld  arms  aboot 
her,  to  baud  the  further  ill  aff  o'  her.  An'  shall  mortal  man 
be  more  just  than  God?  Shall  a  man  be  more  pure  than  his 
Maker  ?     0  my  God  !  my  God  !  " 

The  entrance  of  Margaret  would  have  prevented  the  prosecu- 
tion of  this  conversation,  even  if  it  had  not  already  drawn  to  a 
natural  close.  Not  that  David  would  not  have  talked  thus 
before  his  daughter,  but  simply  that  minds,  like  instruments, 
need  to  be  brought  up  to  the  same  pitch,  before  they  can 
"atone  together,"  and  that  one  feels  this  instinctively  on  the 
entrance  of  another  who  has  not  gone  through  the  same  im-* 
Biediate  process  of  gradual  elevation  of  tone. 

Their  books  and  slates  were  got  out,  and  they  sat  down  to 
their  work ;  but  Hugh  could  not  help  observing  that  David,  in 
the  midst  of  his  lines  and  angles  and  algebraic  computations, 
Avould,  every  now  and  then,  glance  up  at  Margaret,  Avith  a  look 
of  tenderness  in  his  face  yet  deeper  and  more  delicate  in  its 
expression  than  ordinary.  Margaret  was,  hoAvever,  quite  un- 
conscious of  it,  pursuing  her  work  with  her  ordinary  even  dili- 
gence.   But  Janet  observed  it. 

"  What  ails  the  bairn,  Dawvid,  'at  ye  leuk  at  her  that  get?  " 
said  she. 

"  Naething  ails  her,  woman.  Do  ye  never  leuk  at  a  body 
but  Avhen  something  ails  them?  " 

"  Oav,  ay  ;    but  no  that  get." 

"  Weel,  maybe  I  Avas  thinkin'  boo  I  wad  leuk  at  her  gin 
onything  did  ail  her." 

' '  Hoot !  hoot !  dinna  further  the  ill  hither  by  makin'  a  bien 
doonsittin'  an'  a  bed  fort." 

All  David's  ansAA^er  to  this  was  one  of  his  own  smiles. 

At  supper,  for  it  ha[)pened  to  be  Saturday,  Hugh  said  :  — 

"I've  been  busy  between  Avhiles,  iuA^enting,  or  perhaps  dis- 
covering, an  etymological  pedigree  for  you,  David  !  " 

"Weel,  lat's  heart,"  said  David. 


76  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"First,  do  you  know  that  that  volume  with   your  ances- 
tor's name  on  it,  was  written  by  an  old  German  shoemaker,  per- 
4hJi)DS  only  a  cobbler,  for  anything  I  know  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  aboot  it,  more  or  less,"   answered  David. 

"He  was  a  wonderful  man.      Some  people  think  he  was  al-. 
most  inspired." 

"Maybe,  maybe,"   was  all  David's  doubtful  response. 

"At  all  events,  though  I  know  nothing  about  it  myself,  he 
must  have  written  wonderfully  for  a  cobbler." 

"  For  my  pairt,"  replied  David,  "  if  I  see  no  wonder  in 
the  man,  I  can  see  but  little  in  the  cobbler.  What  for  shouklna 
a  cobbler  wfite  Avonuerfully,  as  weel  as  auither?  It's  a  trade 
'at  furthers  meditation.  My  grandfather  was  a  cobbler,  as  ye 
ca't ;  an'  they  say  he  was  no  fule  in  his  ain  way  either." 

"Then  it  does  go  in  the  family!"  cried  Hugh,  trium- 
phantly. "  I  was  in  doubt  at  first  whether  your  name  referred 
to  the  breadth  of  your  shoulders,  David,  as  transmitted  from 
some  ancient  sire,  whose  back  was  an  Ellwand-broad ;  for  the 
g  might  come  from  a  lo  or  v,  for  anything  I  know  to  the  con- 
trary. But  it  would  have  been  braid  in  that  case.  And  now 
I  am  quite  convinced  that  that  Martin  or  his  father  was  a  Ger- 
man, a  friend  of  old  Jacob  Boehmen,  who  gave  him  the  book 
himself,  and  Avas  besides  of  the  same  craft ;  and  he  coming  to 
this  country  with  a  name  hard  to  be  pronounced,  they  found  a 
resemblance  in  the  sound  of  it  to  his  occupation ;  and  so  grad- 
ually corrupted  his  name,  to  them  uncouth,  into  Elsynhrod^ 
Els/uiihrod,  thence  Elginhrod,  with  a  soft^,  and  lastly  Elgin- 
brod,  as  you  pronounce  it  now,  with  a  hard  g.  This  name, 
curned  from  Scotch  into  English,  would  then  be  simply  liar- 
tin  Awlbore.  The  cobbler  is  in  the  family,  David,  descended 
from  Jacob  Boehmen  himself,  by  the  mother's  side." 

This  heraldic  blazon  amused  them  all  very  much,  and  David 
expressed  his  entire  concurrence  with  it,  declaring  it  to  be  in- 
controvertible.    INIargaret  laughed  heartily. 

Besides  its  OAvn  beauty,  two  things  made  Margaret's  laugh 
of  some  consequence  :  one  was,  that  it  was  very  rare;  and  the 
other,  that  it  revealed  her  two  regular  rows  of  dainty  white 
teeth,  suiting  Avell  to  the  whole  build  of  the  maiden.  She  was 
graceful  and  rather  tall,  with  a  head  which,  but  for  its  small- 
ness,  might  have  seemed  too  heavy  for  the  neck  that  supported 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  77 

* 

it,  so  ready  it  always  was  to  droop  like  a  snoAvdrop.      The  only 

parts  about  her  which  Hugh  disliked  were  her  hands  and  feet. 
The  former  certainly  had  been  reddened  and  roughened  by 
household  work ;  but  they  were  well-formed  notwithstanding. 
The  latter  he  had  never  seen,  notwithstanding  the  barefoot 
habits  of  Scotch  maidens ;  for  he  saw  Margaret  rarely  exccp/ 
in  the  evenings,  and  then  she  was  dressed  to  receive  hira.  Cer- 
tainly, however,  they  were  very  far  from  following  the  shape  of 
the  clumsy  country  shoes,  by  which  he  misjudged  their  pro- 
portions. Had  he  seen  them,  as  lie  might  have  seen  their 
some  part  of  any  day  during  the  summer,  their  form  at  leas/ 
would  have  satisfied  him. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

WINTER. 

Out  of  whoso  womb  came  the  ice  ?  and  the  hoai-y  frost  of  heaven,  who  hath  gea 
dered  it?     The  waters  are  hid  as  with  a  stouc,  and  the  face  of  the  deep  is  frozen, 
lie  giveth  snow  like  wool  ;  he  scattereth  the  hoar  frost  like  ashes. 

Job  xxxviii.  29,  30  ;  Psalm  cxlvii.  16. 

Winter  was  fairly  come  at  last.  A  black  frost  had  bound 
the  earth  for  many  days ;  and  at  length  a  peculiar  sensation, 
almost  a  smell  of  snow  in  the  air,  indicated  an  approaching 
storm.  The  snow  fell  at  first  in  a  few  large,  unwilling  flakes, 
that  fluttered  slowly  and  heavily  to  the  earth,  where  they  lay 
like  the  foundation  of  the  superstructure  that  was  about  to  fol- 
low. Faster  and  faster  they  fell  —  Avonderful  multitudes  of 
delicate  crystals,  adhering  in  shapes  of  beauty  which  outvied 
all  that  jeweller  could  invent  or  execute  of  ethereal,  starry 
forms,  structures  of  evanescent  yet  prodigal  loveliness  —  till 
the  whole  air  was  obscured  by  them,  and  night  came  on,  hast- 
ened by  an  hour,  from  the  gathering  of  their  white  darkness.  In 
the  morning  all  the  landscape  was  transfigured.  The  snow  had 
ceased  to  fall ;  but  the  whole  earth,  houses,  fields  and  fences, 
ponds  and  streams,   were   changed   to  whiteness.     But  most 


78  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

1 

•wonderful  looked  the  trees,  —  every  bough  and  every  twig 
tliickcned,  and  bent  earthward  with  its  own  individual  load  of 
the  fairy-ghost  birds.  Each  retained  the  semblance  of  its  own 
'form,  wonderfully,  magically  altered  by  its  thick  garment  of 
radiant  whiteness,  shining  gloriously  in  the  sunlight.  It  was 
the  shroud  of  dead  nature ;  but  a  shroud  that  seemed  to  pre- 
figure a  lovely  resurrection ;  for  the  very  dcath-ropo  was 
■  unspeakably,  witchingly  beautiful.  Again  at  night  the  snow 
fell ;  and  again  and  again,  with  intervening  days  of  bright 
sunshine.  Every  morning  the  first  fresh  footprints  were  a 
new  wonder  to  the  living  creatures,  the  young-hearted  amongst 
them  at  Igast,  who  lived  and  moved  in  this  death-world,  this 
sepulchral  planet,  buried  in  the  shining  air  before  the  eyes  of 
its  sister-stars  in  the  blue,  deathless  heavens.  Paths  had  to  be 
cleared  in  every  direction  towards  the  out-houses,  and  again 
cleared  every  morning ;  till  at  last  the  walls  of  solid  rain  stood 
higher  than  the  head  of  little  Johnnie,  as  he  was  still  called, 
though  he  was  twelve  years  old.  It  was  a  great  delight  to  him 
to  wander  through  the  snow-avenues  in  every  direction ;  and 
great  fun  it  was  both  to  him  and  his  brother,  when  they  were  tired 
of  snowballing  each  other  and  every  living  thing  about  the 
place  except  their  parents  and  tutor,  to  hollow  out  mysterious 
caves  and  vaulted  passages.  Sometimes  they  would  carry 
these  passages  on  from  one  path  to  within  an  inch  or  two  of 
another,  and  there  lie  in  wait  till  some  passer-by,  unAveeting  of 
harm,  Avas  just  opposite  their  lurking  cave  ;  when  they  would 
dash  through  the  solid  wall  of  snow  with  a  hideous  yell,  al- 
most endangering  the  wits  of  the  maids,  and  causing  a  recoil 
and  startled  ejaculation  even  of  the  strong  man  on  whom  they 
clianced  to  try  their  powers  of  alarm.  Hugh  himself  was  once 
glad  to  cover  the  confusion  of  his  own  fright  with  the  hearty 
fit  of  laughter  into  which  the  perturbation  of  the  boys,  upon 
discovering  whom  they  had  startled,  threw  him.  It  was  rare 
fun  to  them  ;  but  not  to  the  women  about  the  house,  who 
moved  from  place  to  place  in  a  state  of  chronic  alarm,  scared 
by  the  fear  of  being  scared ;  till  one  of  them  going  into  hysterics, 
real  or  pretended,  it  was  found  necessary  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
practice ;  not,  however,  before  Margaret  had  had  her  share  of 
the  jest.  Hugh  happened  to  be  looking  out  of  his  window  at 
the  moment  —  watching  her  indeed,  as  she  passed  tOAvardsthe 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  7& 

kitchen  Avith  some  message  from  her  mother  —  when  an  inde- 
scribaljle  monster,  a  chaotic  mass  of  legs  and  snow,  burst  as  if  out 
of  the  earth,  upon  her.  She  turned  pale  as  the  snow  around  her 
(and  Hugh  had  never  observed  before  how  dark  her  ejes 
were),  as  she  sprang  back  with  the  grace  of  a  startled  deer. 
She  uttered  no  cry,  however,  perceivmg  in  a  moment  Avho  it  was, 
gave  a  troubled  little  smile,  and  passed  on  her  way  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  Hugh  was  not  sorry  when  maternal  orders  were 
issued  against  the  practical  joke.  The  boys  did  not  respect  their 
mother  very  much,  but  they  dared  not  disobey  her,  when  she 
spoke  in  a  certain  tone. 

There  was  no  pathway  cut  to  David's  cottage ;  and  no  track 
trodden,  except  what  David,  coming  to  the  house  sometimes, 
and  Hugh  going  every  afternoon  to  the  cottage,  made  between 
them.  Hugh  often  went  to  the  knees  in  snow,  but  was  well 
dried  and  warmed  by  Janet's  care  when  he  arrived.  She  had 
always  a  pair  of  stockings  and  slippers  ready  for  him  at  the  fire, 
to  be  put  on  the  moment  of  his  arrival ;  and  exchanged  again 
for  his  own,  dry  and  warm,  before  he  footed  once  more  the 
ghostly  waste.  When  neither  moon  Avas  up  nor  stars  were  out, 
there  v/as  a  strange  eerie  glimmer  from  the  snow  that  lighted 
the  way  home ;  and  he  thought  there  must  be  more  light  from 
it  than  could  be  accounted  for  merely  by  the  reflection  of  every 
particle  of  light  that  might  fall  upon  it  from  other  sources. 

Margaret  was  not  kept  to  the  house  by  the  snow,  even  when 
it  was  falling.  She  went  out  as  usual,  — not  of  course  wandering 
far,  for  walkins;  was  difficult  now.  But  she  was  in  little  dan^^er 
of  losing  her  way,  for  she  knew  the  country  as  well  as  any  one; 
and  although  its  face  was  greatly  altered  by  the  filling  up  of 
its  features,  and  the  uniformity  of  the  color,  yet  those  features 
were  discernible  to  her  experienced  eye  through  the  sheet 
that  covered  them.  It  was  only  necessary  to  walk  on  the  tops  of 
dykes,  and  other  elevated  ridges,  to  keep  clear  of  the  deep  snow. 

There  were  many  paths  between  the  cottages  and  the  fa,rms  in 
the  neighborhood,  in  which  she  could  walk  with  comparative 
ease  and  comfort.  But  she  preferred  wandering  away  through 
the  fields  and  towards  the  hills.  Sometimes  she  would  come 
home  like  a  creature  of  the  snow,  bon>  of  it,  amd  living  in  it  • 
so  covered  was  she  from  head  to  foot  with  its  flakes.  David 
used  to  smile  at  her  with  peculiar  complacency  on  such  occa- 


80  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

sions.  It  was  evideut  that  it  pleased  liim  she  could  be  the 
playmate  of  nature.  Janet  was  not  altogether  indulgent  to 
these  freaks,  as  she  considered  them,  of  Marcjet,  —  she  had 
quite  given  up  calling  her  Meg,  "  sin'  she  took  to  the  beuk  so 
eident."  But  whatever  her  mother  might  think  of  it,  i\Iar- 
garet  was  in  this  way  laying  up  a  store  not  only  of  bodily  and 
mental  health,  but  of  resources  for  thought  and  feeling,  of 
secret  understandings  and  communions  with  nature,  and 
everything  simple,  ahd  strong,  and  pure  through  nature,  than 
which  she  could  have  accumulated  nothing  more  precious. 

This  kind  of  weather  continued  for  some  time,  till  the 
people  declared  they  had  never  known  a  storm  last  so  long, 
"  ohn  ever  devallt,''  that  is,  without  intermission.  But  the 
frost  grew  harder  ;  and  then  the  snow,  instead  of  falling  in 
large,  adhesive  flakes,  fell  in  small  dry  flakes,  of  which  the  boys 
could  make  no  siiaw-has.  All  the  time,  however,  there  vras 
no  wind  ;  and  this  not  being  a  sheep-country,  there  was  little 
uneasiness  or  sufiering  occasioned  by  the  severity  of  the  weather, 
beyond  what  must  befall  the  poorer  classes  in  every  northern 
country  during  the  winter. 

One  diiy,  David  heard  that  a  poor  old  man  of  his  acquaint- 
ance was  dying,  and  immediately  set  out  to  visit  him,  at  a 
distance  of  two  or  three  miles.  He  returned  in  the  evening, 
only  in  time  for  his  studies  ;  for  there  was  of  course  little  or 
nothing  to  be  done  at  present  in  the  way  of  labor.  As  he  sat 
down  to  the  table,  he  said  :  — 

"  I  hae  seen  a  wonderfu'  sichtsin'  IsaAv  you,  Mr.  Sutherlan'. 
I  gaed  to  see  an  auld  Christian,  whase  body  an'  brain  are  nigh 
worn  oot.  He  was  never  onything  remarkable  for  intellect 
and  jist  took  what  the  minister  tellt  him  for  true,  an'  K:ccpit 
the  guid  o't;  for  his  hert  was  aye  richt,  an'  his  faith  a  himtle 
stronger  than  maybe  it  had  ony  richt  to  be,  accordin'  to  his 
ain  opingans  ;  but,  hech  !  there's  something  far  better  nor  his 
opingans  i'  the  hert  o'  ilka  God-fearing'  body.  Whan  I  gaed 
butt  the  hoose,  he  was  sittin'  in's  auld  arm-chair  by  the  side  o' 
the  fire,  an'  his  face  luikit  dazed  like.  There  was  no  liclit 
in't  but  what  cam'  noo  an'  than  frae  a  low  i'  the  fire. 
The  snaw  was  driftin'  a  wee  aboot  the  bit  winnock,  an'  hia 
auld  een  was  fiked  upo't ;  an'  a'  'at  he  said,  takin'  no  notice  o' 
me,  was  jist,    '  The  birdies  is  flutterin'  ;  the  birdies  is  flut- 


^^y,,  DAVID    ELaiNBROD.  81 

terin'.'  I  spak'  till  him,  an'  tried  to  roose.him,  wi'  ae  thing 
after  anither  ;  bit  I  micht  as  weel  hae  spoken  to  the  door-cheek 
for  a"  the  notice  that  he  took.  Never  a  word  he  spak'.  bu* 
aje,  '  The  birdies  is  fluttering'.'  At  last,  it  cam'  to  my  min' 
'at  the  body  was  aye  fu'  o'  ane  o'  the  psalms  in  particler: 
an'  sae  I  jist  said  till  him  at  last,  '  John,  hae  ye  forgotten  tlifi 
twenty-third  psalm?  '  —  '  Forgotten  the  twenty-third  psalm  !' 
quo'  he ;  an'  his  face  lighted  up  in  a  moment  frae  the  inside : 
' ''  'The  Lord's  my  sheplierd^''^ —  an"  I  hae  followed  him  through 
a'  the  smorin'  drift  o'  the  warl',  an'  he'll  bring  me  to  the  green 
pastures  an'  the  still  Ayaters  o'  his  summer-kingdom  at  the 
lang  last.  "7  shall  not  wani.^^  An'  I  hae  Avanted  for  nae- 
thing,  naething.'  He  had  been  a  shepherd  hims^l'  in's  young 
days.  And  soon  he  gaed,  wi'  a  kin'  o'  a  personal  commentary 
on  the  haill  psalm  frae  beginnin'  to  en',  and  syne  he  jist  fell 
back  into  the  auld  croonin'  sang,  '  The  birdies  is  flutterin'  ;  ' 
the  birdies  is  flutterin'.  The  licht  deid  oot  o'  his  face,  an'  a'  that . 
I  could  say  could  na'  bring  back  the  licht  to  his  face,  nor  the  sense 
to  his  tongue.  He'll  sune  be  in  a  better  Avarl'.  Sae  I  was  jist 
forced  to  leave  him.  But  I  promised  his  dochter,  puir  body,  that 
I  would  ca'  again  an'  see  him  the  morn's  afternoon.  It's  unco 
dowie  wark  for  her ;  for  they  hae  scarce  a  neebor  within  reach  o' 
them,  in  case  o'  a  change ;  an'  there  had  hardly  been  a  creater 
inside  o'  their  door  for  a  Aveek." 

The  following  afternoon,  David  set  out  according  to  his 
promise.  Before  his  return,  the  Avind,  Avhich  had  been  threat- 
ening to  wake  all  day,  had  risen  rapidly,  and  now  blew  a 
snoAV-storm  of  its  own.  When  Hugh  opened  the  door  to  take 
his  usual  walk  to  the  cottage,  just  as  darkness  was  beginning 
to  fall,  the  sight  he  saAV  made  his  young,  strong  heart  dance 
Avith  delight.  The  snow  that  fell  made  but  a  small  part  of  the 
Aviid,  confused  turmoil  and  uproar  of  the  tenfold  storm.  For 
the  Avind,  raving  OA^er  the  surface  of  the  snow,  Avhich,  as  I 
have  already  explained,  lay  nearly  as  loose  as  dry  sand,  SAA'ept 
it  in  thick,  fierce  clouds  along  Avith  it,  tearing  it  up  and  casting 
it  doAvn  again  no  one  could  tell  where,  — for  the  Avhole  air  was 
filled  with  drift,  as  they  call  the  snoAV  when  thus  driven.  A 
fcAv  hours  of  this  Avould  alter  the  face  of  the  Avhole  country, 
leaving  some  parts  bare,  and  others  buried  beneath  heaps  on 
heaps  of  snow,  called  here  snaw-vreaths.    For  the  word  snow< 


82  DAVID    ELGIIsBROD. 

wi'caths  doe3  not  jnean  the  lovclj  garlands  hung  upon  every 
tree  and  bush  m  its  feathery  fall;  but  awful  mounds  of  drifted 
enow,  that  may  be  the  smooth,  soft,  white  sepulchres  of  dead 
men,  smothered  in  the  lapping  folds  of  the  almost  solid  wind. 
Path  or  way  was  none  before  him.  He  could  see  nothing  but 
the  surface  of  a  sea  of  froth  and  foam,  as  it  appeared  to  him 
with  the  spray  torn  from  it,  whirled  in  all  shapes  and  contor- 
tions, and  driven  in  every  direction ;  but  chiefly  in  the  main 
direction  of  the  wind,  in  long,  sloping  spires  of  misty  whiteness, 
swift  as  arrows,  and  as  keen  upon  the  face  of  him  who  dared 
to  oppose  them.  . 

Hugh  plunged  into  it  with  a  wild  sense  of  life  and  joy.  In 
the  course  of  his  short  walk,  however,  if  walk  it  could  be 
Culled,  which  was  one  chain  of  plunges  and  emergings,  strug- 
gles Avith  the  snow,  and  wrestles  with  the  wind,  he  felt  that  it 
needed  not  a  stout  heart  only,  but  sound  lungs  and  strong 
limbs  as  well,  to  battle  with  the  storm,  even  for  such  a  dis- 
tance. When  he  reached  the  cottage,  he  found  Janet  in  con- 
siderable anxiety,  not  only  about  David,  Avho  had  not  yet  re- 
turned, but  about  Mari2;aret  as  well,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for 
some  time,  and  who  must  be  out  somicwdiere  in  tlie  storm,  — 
"  the  wull  hizzie."  Hugh  suggested  that  she  might  have  gone 
to  meet  her  father. 

"The  Lord  forbid!"  ejaculated  Janet.  "The  road  lies 
owcr  the  tap  o'  the  Halshach,  as  eerie  and  bare  a  place  as  ever 
was  hill-moss,  Avi'  never  a  scoug  or  bield  in"t  frae  the  tae  side 
to  the  tither.  The  win'  there  jist  gangs  clean  Avud  a'the- 
gither.  An'  there's  mony  a  well-ee  forbye,  that  gin  ye  fell 
intiirt,  ye  Avud  never  come  at  the  boddom  o't.  The  Lord  pre- 
serve's !     I  wis'  Dawvid  Avas  hame." 

"  HoAV  could  you  let  him  go,  Janet?  " 

"  Lat  him  gang,  laddie  !  It's  a  Strang  tow  'at  wud  hand  or 
bin'  DaAvvid,  Avhan  he  considers  he  bud  to  gang,  an'  'twere  in- 
till  a  deil's  byke.  But  I'm  no  that  feared  aboot  feim.  I  maist 
believe  he's  under  special  protection,  if  ever  man  Avas  or 
oucht  to  be ;  an'  he's  no  more  feared  at  the  storm,  nor  gin  the 
snaAV  AA'as  angels'  feathers  flauchterin'  oot  o'  their  wings  a' 
aboot  him.  But  I'm  no  easy  i'  my  min'  aboot,  Maggy  —  the  • 
wull  hizzie  !  Gin  she  be  meetin  her  father,  an  chance  to  misa 
him,  the  Lord  kens  what  may  come  o'  her." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  8fS 

Hugh  tried  to  comfort  her  ;  but  all  that  could  be  done  was 
to  v.ait  David's  return.  The  sto/m  seemed  to  increase  rather 
than  abate  its  force.  The  footprints  Hugh  had  made  had  all 
but  vanished  already  at  the  very  door  of  tlie  hous.e,  which 
stood  quite  in  the  shelter  of  the  fir-wood.  As  they  looked 
out,  a  dark  figure  appeai'ed  within  a  yard  or  two  of  the  house. 

"  The  Lord  grant  it  be  my  bairn!"  prayed  poor  Janet. 
But  it  Avas  David,  and  alone.     Janet  gave  a  shriek. 

'*  Dawvid,  whaur's  Maggy?  " 

"  I  haena  seen  the  bairn,"  replied  David,  in  repressed  per- 
turbation.     "  She's  no  theroot,  is  she,  the  nicht?  " 

"  She's  no  at  hame,  Dawvid,  that's  a'  'at  I  ken." 

"  Whaur  gaed  she  ?  " 

"The  Lord  kens.  She's  smoored  i'  the  snaw  by  this 
time." 

"  She's  i'  the  Lord's  ban's,  Janet,  be  she  aneath  a  snaw- 
vraith.      Dinna  forget  that,  wuman.     Hoo   lang  is't  sin'  ye, 
missed  her?  " 

"An  hour  an'  mair ;  I  dinna  ken  hoo  lang.  I'm  clean 
doitit  wi'  dreid." 

"I'll  awa'  an'  leuk  for  her.  Jist  baud  the  hert  in  her  till 
I  come  back,  Mr.  Sutherlan'." 

"  I  won't  be  left  behind,  David.     I'm  going  with  you." 

"  Ye  dinna  ken  what  ye're  sayin',  Mr.  Sutherlan'.  I  wud 
sune  hae  twa  o'  ye  to  seek  in  place  o'  ane." 

"  Never  heed  me.  I'm  going  on  my  own  account,  come 
what  may." 

"  Weel,  weel ;  I  downa  bide  to  differ.  I'm  gaein'  up  the 
burn-side  ;  baud  ye  ower  to  the  farm,  and  spier  gin  onybody's 
seen  her :  an'  the  lads'll  be  oot  to  leuk  for  her  in  a  jiffey. 
My  puir  lassie  !  " 

The  sigh  that  must  have  accompanied  the  last  words  was 
lost  in  the  wind,  as  they  vanished  in  the  darkness.  Janet  fell 
on  her  knees  in  the  kitchen,  with  the  door  wide  open,  and  the 
wind  drifting  in  the  powdery  snow,  and  scattering  it  with  the 
ashes  from  the  hearth  over  the  floor.  A  picture  of  more 
thorough  desolation  can  hardly  be  imagined.  She  soon  came 
to  herself  however ;  and  reflecting  that,  if  the  lost  child  was 
found,  there  must  be  a  warm  bed  to  receive  her,  else  she 
migbt  be  a  second  time  lost,  she  rose  and  shut  the  door,  and 


84  DAVID    ELGINBRUD.   - 

mended  the  fire.  It  was  as  if  the  dumb  attitude  of  her  prayer 
was  answered ;  for,  though  she  had  never  spoken  or  even 
thought  a  Avord,  strength  was  restored  to  her  distnictcd  brain. 
"When  she  had  made  every  preparation  she  could  think  of,  she 
went  to  the  door  again,  opened  it,  and  looked  out.  It  was  a 
region  of  howling  darkness,  tossed  about  by  pale  snow-drifts ; 
out  of  which  it  seemed  scarce  more  hopeful  that  welcome  faces 
would  emerge  than  that  they  should  return  to  our  eyes  from 
the  vast  unknown  in  which  they  vanish  at  last.  She  closed 
the  door  once  more,  and,  knowing  nothing  else  to  be  done,  sat 
down  on  a  chair,  Avith  her  hands  on  her  knees,  and  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  door.  The  clock  Avent  on  Avith  its  sloAy.  swino;, 
tic — tac^  tic — tac,  an  utterly  inhuman  time-measurer  ;  but  she 
heard  the  sound  of  every  second,  through  the  midst  of  the 
uproar  in  the  fir-trees,  Avhich  bent  their  tall  heads  his-sing  tc 
the  blast,  and  SAvinging  about  in  the  agony  of  tlieir  strife.  The 
minutes  went  by,  till  an  hour  Avas  gone,  and  there  was  neither 
sound  nor  hearing  but  of  the  storm  and  the  clock.  Still  sh^ 
sat  and  stared,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  door-latch.  Suddenly, 
without  Avarning,  it  AA'as  lifted,  and  the  door  opened.  Ilei 
heart  bounded  and  fluttered  like  a  startled  bird  ;  but,  alas  !  the 
first  words  she  heard  Avere,  "  Is  she  no  come  yet?  "  It  Avay 
her  husband,  followed  by  seA^eral  of  the  farm  servants,  lie 
had  made  a  circuit  to  the  farm,  and  finding  that  Hugh  had 
never  been  there,  hoped,  though  Avith  trembling,  that  Mar- 
garet had  already  returned  home.  The  question  fell  upon 
Janet's  heart  like  the  sound  of  the  earth  on  the  cofiin-lid,  and 
her  silent  stare  Avas  the  only  ansAver  David  received. 

But  at  that  very  moment,  like  a  dead  man  burst  from  the 
tomb,  entered  from  behind  the  party  at  the  open  door,  silent 
and  Avhite,  Avitli  rigid  features  and  fixed  eyes,  Hugh.  He 
stumbled  in,  leaning  forAvard  Avith  long  strides,  and  dragging 
something  behind  him.  He  pushed  and  staggered  through 
them  as  if  he  saAV  nothing  before  him ;  and  as  they  parted, 
horror-stricken,  they  saw  that  it  was  Margaret,  or  her  dead 
body,  that  he  dragged  after  him.  He  dropped  her  at  hei 
mother's  feet,  and  fell  himself  on  the  floor,  before  they  Avere 
able  to  give  him  any  support.  David,  avIio  Avas  quite  calm,  got 
the  A^hiskey-bottle  out,  and  tried  to  administer  some  to  Mar- 
garet first ;  but  her  teeth  Averc  firmly  set,  and  to  all  appearance 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  85 

she  was  dead.  Oiio  of  the  young  men  succeeded  better  with 
Hugh,  Avhom  at  J)avid's  direction  they  took  into  the  study ; 
while  he  and  Janet  got  Margaret  undressed  and  put  to  be({, 
with  hot  bottles  all  about  her :  for  in  warmth  lay  the  only 
hope  of  restoring  her.  After  she  had  lain  thus  for  a  while,  she 
gave  a  sigh ;  and  when  they  had  succeeded  in  getting  her  to 
swallow  some  warm  milk  she  began  to  breathe,  and  soon  seemed 
to  be  only  fast  asleep.  After  half  an  hour's  rest  and  Avarming 
IIu2;h  was.  able  to  move  and  speak.  David  would  not  allow 
him  to  say  much,  however,  but  got  him  to  bed,  sending  word 
to  the  house  that  he  could  not  go  home  that  night.  He  and 
Janet  sat  by  the  fireside  all  night,  listening  to  the  stornj  that 
still  raved  without,  and  thanking  God  for  both  of  the  lives. 
Every  few  minutes  a  tiptoe  excursion  was  made  to  the  bed- 
side, and  now  and  then  to  the  other  room.  Both  the  patients 
slept  quietly.  Towards  morning  Margaret  opened  her  eyes, 
and  faintly  called  her  mother ;  but  soon  fell  asleep  once  more,* 
and  did  not  awake  again  till  nearly  noon.  When  sufficiently 
restored  to  be  able  to  speak,  the  account  she  gave  was,  that 
she  had  set  out  to  meet  her  father;  but,  the  storm  increasing, 
she  had  thought  it  more  prudent  to  turn.  It  grew  in  violence, 
however,  so  rapidly,  and  beat  so  directly  in  her  face,  that  she 
was  soon  exhausted  with  struggling,  and  benumbed  with  the 
cold.  The  last  thing  she  remembered  was,  dropping,  as  she 
thought,  into  a  hole,  and  feeling  as  if  she  were  going  to  sleep 
in  bed,  yet  knowing  it  was  death,  and  thinking  how  much 
sweeter  it  was  than  sleep.  Hugh's  account  was  very  strange 
and  defective,  but  he  was  never  able  to  add  anything  to  it. 
He  said  that,  when  he  rushed  out  into  the  dark,  the  storm, 
seized  him  like  a  fury,  beating  him  about  the  head  and  face 
with  icy  wings,  till  he  was  almost  stunned.  He  took  the  road 
to  the  farm,  which  lay  through  the  fir-wood ;  but  he  soon  be- 
came aware  that  he  had  lost  his  way,  and  might  tramp  about 
in  the  fir-wood  till  daylight,  if  he  lived  as  long.  Then,  think- 
ing of  Llargaret,  he  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  rushed 
wildly  along.  He  thought  he  must  have  knocked  his  head 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  but  he  could  not  tell ;  for  he  re- 
membered nothing  more  but  that  he  found  himself  dragging 
Margaret,  with  his  arms  round  her,  through  the  snow,  and 
Hearing  the  light  in  the  cottage  window.     Where  or  bow  he 


86  DAVID    ELQINBROD. 

had  foun'l  her,  or  what  the  light  was  that  he  was  approaching, 
ho  had  not  the  least  idea.  He  had  only  a  vague  notion  that 
he  was  rescuing  Margaret  from  something  dreadful.  ]\Iar- 
g.iret,  for  her  part,  had  no  recollection  of  reacliing  the  fir- 
wood  ;  and  as,  long  before  morning,  all  traces  were  obliterated, 
the  facts  remained  a  mjsterj.  Janet  thought  that  David  had 
some  wonderful  persuasion  about  it ;  but  he  was  never  heard 
even  to  speculate  on  the  subject.  Certain  it  was,  that  Hugh 
had  saved  Margaret's  life.  He  seemed  quite  well  next  day, 
for  he  was  of  a  very  powerful  and  enduring  frame  for  his 
years.  She  recovered  more  slowly,  and  perhaps  never  alto- 
gether overcame  the  effects  of  Death's  embrace  that  night. 
From  the  moment  when  Margaret  was  brought  home  the  storm 
gradually  died  away,  and  by  the  morning  all  was  still;  but 
many  starry  and  moonlit  nights  glimmered  and  passed  before 
that  snow  was  melted  away  from  the  earth  ;  and  many  a  night 
Janet  awoke  from  her  sleep  with  a  cry,  thinking  she  heard  her 
daughter  moaning,  deep  in  the  smooth  ocean  of  snow,  and  could 
not  find  where  she  lay. 

The  occurrences  of  this  dreadful  night  could  not  lessen  the 
interest  his  cottase  friends  felt  in  Hugh ;  and  a  Ion*;  winter 
passed  with  daily  and  lengthening  communion  both  in  study 
and  in  general  conversation.  I  fear  some  of  my  younger 
readers  will  think  my  story  slow,  and  say,  "  What !  are 
they  not  going  to  fall  in  love  with  each  other  yet  ?  We  have 
been  expecting  it  ever  so  long."  I  have  two  answers  to  make 
to  this.  The  first  is,  "I  do  not  pretend  to  know  so  much 
about  love  as  you  —  excuse  me  —  think  you  do ;  and  must 
confess  I  do  not  know  whether  they  were  in  love  with  each 
other  or  not."  The  second  is,  "That  I  dare  not  pretend  to 
understand  thoroughly  such  a  sacred  mystery  as  the  heart  of 
Margaret ;  and  I  should  feel  it  rather  worse  than  presumptuous 
to  talk  as  if  I  did.  Even  Hugh's  is  known  to  me  only  by 
gleams  of  light  thrown,  now  and  then,  and  here  and  there, 
upon  it.  Perhaps  the  two  answers  are  only  the  same  answer 
in  different  shapes." 

]\Irs.  Glasford,  however,  would  easily  answer  the  question, 
if  an  answer  is  all  that  is  wanted ;  for  she,  notwithstanding 
the  facts  of  the  story,  which  she  could  not  fail  to  have  heard 
correctly  from  the  best  authority,  and  notwithstanding  the  na- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  87 

ture  of  the  night,  which  might  have  seemed  sufficient  to  over- 
throw her  conclusions,  uniformly  remarked,  as  often  as  their 
escape  was  alluded  to  in  hi^r  hearing :  ■=— 

"  Lat  them  tak'  it !     They  had  no  business  to  be  oot  aboot 
thesither." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TRANSITION. 

Tell  me,  bright  boy,  tell  me,  my  golden  lad, 
Whither  away  so  frolic?     Why  so  glad? 
What  all  thy  vrealth  in  council  ?  all  thy  state? 
Are  husks  so  dear?  troth,  'tis  a  mighty  rate. 

Richard  Crashaw. 

The  long  Scotch  winter  passed  by  without  any  interruptioE 
to  the  growing  friendship.  But  the  spring  brought  a  change ; 
and  Hugh  was  separated  from  his  friends  sooner  than  he  had 
anticipated,  by  more  than  six  months.  For  his  mother  wrote 
to  him  in  great  distress,  in  consequence  of  a  claim  made  upon 
her  for  some  debt  which  his  father  had  contracted,  very  prob- 
ably for  Hugh's  own  sake.  Hugh  could  not  bear  that  any 
such  should  remain  undischarged,  or  that  his  father's  name 
should  not  rest  in  peace  as  Avell  as  his  body  and  soul.  He 
requested,  therefore,  from  the  laird,  the  amount  due  to  him, 
and  despatched  almost  the  whole  of  it  for  the  liquidation  of 
this  debt ;  so  that  he  was  now  as  unprovided  as  before  for  the 
expenses  of  the  coming  winter  at  Aberdeen.  But  about  the 
same  time  a  fellow-student  wrote  to  him  with  news  of  a  situa- 
tion for  the  summer,  worth  three  times  as  much  as  his  present 
one,  and  to  be  procured  through  his  friend's  interest.  Hugh, 
having  engaged  himself  to  the  laird  only  for  the  winter,  al- 
though he  had  intended  to  stay  till  the  commencement  of  the 
following  session,  felt  that,  although  he  would  much  rather  re- 
main Avhere  he  was,  he  must  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  accept 
his  friend's  offer :  and  therefore  Avrote  at  once. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  parting.  It  was  very 
quiet,  but  very  solemn  and  sad..      Janet  showed  far  more  dis- 


88  •    DAVID    ELGINBUOD. 

tre,5S  than  Margaret,  for  slie  wept  outright.  The  tears  stood 
in  David's  ejes,  as  he  grasped  the  youth's  hand  in  silence. 
Margaret  was  very  pale";  that  Avas  all.  As  soon  as  Hugh  dis- 
appeared with  her  father,  who  was  going  to  walk  with  him  to 
the  village  througli  which  the  coach  passed,  she  hurried  away 
and  went  to  the  fir-wood  for  comfort. 

Hugh  found  his  now  situation  in  Perthshire  very  different 
from  the  last.  The  heads  of  the  family  being  themselves  a 
lady  and  a  gentleman,  he  found  himself  a  gentleman  too.  He 
had  more  to  do ;  but  his  work  left  him  plenty  of  leisure  not- 
withstanding. A  good  portion  of  his  spare  time  he  devoted  to 
verse-making,  to  which  he  felt  a  growing  impulse ;  and  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  merit  of  his  compositions,  they  did 
him  intellectual  good  at  least,  if  it  were  only  through  the  pro- 
cess of  their  construction.  He  wrote  to  David  after  his  arrival, 
telling  him  all  about  his  new  situation,  and  received  in  return  a 
letter  from  Margaret,  Avritten  at  her  father's  dictation.  The 
mechanical  part  of  letter-writing  was  rather  laborious  to  David ; 
but  Margaret  wrote  well,  in  consequence  of  the  number  of 
papers,  of  one  sort  and  another,  which  she  had  written  for 
Hugh.  Three  or  four  letters  more  passed  between  them  at 
lengthening  intervals.  Then  they  ceased  —  on  Hugh's  side 
first ;  until,  when  on  the  point  of  leaving  for  Aberdeen,  feeling 
somewhat  conscience-stricken  at  not  having  written  for  so  long, 
he  scribbled  a  note  to  inform  them  of  his  approaching  depart- 
ure, promising  to  let  them  know  his  address  as  soon  as  he 
found  himself  settled.  Will  it  be  believed  that  the  session 
went  by  without  the  redemjotion  of  this  pledge?  Surely  he 
could  not  have  felt,  to  any  approximate  degree,  the  amount  of 
obligation  he  was  under  to  his  humble  friends.  Perhaps,  in- 
deed, he  may  have  thought  that  the  obligation  was  ^arincipallj 
on  their  side ;  as  it  would  have  been,  if  intellectual  assistance 
could  outweigh  heart-kindness,  and  spiritual  impulse  and  en- 
lightenment ;  for,  jinconsciously  in  a  great  measure  to  himself, 
he  had  learned  from  David  to  regard  in  a  new  and  more  real 
aspect  many  of  those  truths  which  he  had  hitherto  received  ab 
true,  and  which  yet  had  till  then  produced  in  him  no  other 
than  a  feeling  of  the  commonplace  aid  uninteresting  at  the 
best. 

Besides  this,  and  many    cognate  advantages,   a   thc«isand 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  89 

seeds  of  truth  must  have  surely  remained  in  his  mind,  dropped 
there  from  the  same  tongue  of  wisdom,  and  only  waiting  the 
friendly  aid  of  a  hard  winter,  breaking  up  the  cold,  selfish 
clods  of  clay,  to  share  in  the  loveliness  of  a  new  spring,  and  be 
perfected  in  the  beauty  of  a  new  summer. 

However  this  may  have  been,  it  is  certain  that  he  forgot  his 
old  friends  far  more  than  he  himself  coitld  have  thought  it  pos- 
sible he  should  ;  for,  to  make  the  best  of  it,  youth  is  easily  at- 
tracted and  filled  with  the  present  show,  and  easily  forgets 
that  which,  from  distance  in  time  or  space,  has  no  show  to 
show.  Spending  his  evenings  in  the  midst  of  merry  faces,  and 
ready  tongues  fluent  with  the  tones  of  jollity,  if  not  always  of 
wit,  which  glided  sometimes  into  no  too  earnest  discussion  of 
the  difficult  subjects  occupying  their  student  hours  ;  surrounded 
by  the  vapors  of  whiskey-toddy,  and  the  smoke  of  cutty-pipes, 
till  flir  into  the  short  hours  ;  then  hurrying  home,  and  lapsing 
into  unrefreshing  slumbers  over  intending  study,  or  sitting  up^ 
all  night  to  prepare  the  tasks  which  had  been  neglected  for  a 
ball  or  an  evening  with  Wilson,  the  great  interpreter  of  Scot- 
tish song,  —  it  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  should  lose 
the  finer  consciousness  of  higher  powers  and  deeper  feelings, 
not  from  any  behavior  in  itself  wrong,  but  from  the  hurry, 
noise,  and  tumult  in  the  streets  of  life,  that,  peneti-ating  too 
deep  into  the  house  of  life,  dazed  and  stupefied  the  silent  and 
lonely  watcher  in  the  chamber  of  conscience,  far  apart.  He 
liad  no  time  to  think  or  feel. 

The  session  drew  to  a  close.  He  escheAved  all  idleness ; 
shut  himself  up,  after  class-hours,  with  his  books ;  ate  little, 
studied  hard,  slept  irregularly,  Avorking  always  best  between 
midnight  and  two  in  the  morning ;  carried  the  first  honors  in 
most  of  his  classes ;  and  at  length  breathed  freely,  but  Avith  a 
ilizzy  brain,  and  a  fixce  that  revealed,  in  pale  cheeks,  and  red, 
weary  eyes,  the  results  of  an  excess  of  mental  labor, —  an  excess 
Vv'hich  is  as  injurious  as  any  other  kind  of  intemperance,  the 
moral  degradation  alone  kept  out  of  view.  Proud  of  his  suc- 
cess, he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  short  note,  with  a  simple  state- 
ment of  it,  to  David ;  hoping,  in  his  secret  mind,  that  he 
would  attribute  his  previous  silence  to  an  absorption  in  study 
which  had  not  existed  before  the  end  of  the  session  Avas  quite 
at  liand.     Now  that  he  had  more  lime  for  reflection,  he  could 


90  DA\riD    ELGINBRnD. 

not  bear  the  idea  that  that  noble  rustic  face  should  look  disap- 
^provinglj,  or,  still  worse,  coldly  upon  him  ;  and  he  could  not 
help  feeling  as  if  the  old  ploughniau  had  taken  the  place  of 
his  father,  as  the  only  man  of  whom  he  must  stand  in  aAve, 
and  who  had  a  right  to  reprove  him.  lie  did  reprove  him 
now,  though  unintentionally.  For  David  was  delighted  at 
having  such  good  news  from  him  ;  and  the  uneasiness  which  he 
had  felt,  but  never  quite  expressed,  was  almost  swept  away  in 
the  conclusion  that  it  was  unreasonable  to  expect  the  young 
man  to  give  his  time  to  them  both  absent  and  present,  espe- 
cially when  he  had  been  occupied  to  such  good  purpose  as  this 
letter  signified.  So  he  was  nearly  at  peace  about  him  — 
though  not  quite.  Hugh  received  from  him  the  following  let- 
ter in  reply  to  his;  dictated,  as  usual,  to  his  secretary,  Mar- 
garet :  — 

"  My  dkau  Sir  :  Ye'll  be  a  great  nia,n  some  day,  gin  ye  hand  at  it.  But 
tilings  maunna  be  gotten  at  the  onthxy  o'  niair  than  they're  worth. 
Ye'll  ken  what  I  mean.  An"  there's  better  things  nor  bein'  a  great  man, 
efter  a'.  Forgie  the  liberty  I  tak'  in  remin'in'  ye  o'  sic  like.  I'm  only 
remiu'in'  ye  o'  what  ye  ken  weel  aneiich.  But  ye're  a  brave  lad,  an'  ye 
hae  been  an  unco  fricm'  to  nie  an'  mine;  an'  I  pi'ay  the  Lord  to  thank 
ye  for  me,  for  ye  hae  dune  mucklegnid  to  his  bairns, —  meanin'  me  an' 
mine.  It's  verra  kin'  o'  ye  to  vrite  till's  in  the  vcrra  moment  o'  victory; 
but  weel  ye  kent  that  amid  a' yer  fricn's  —  an' ye  canua  fail  to  hae 
mony  a  ane,  wi'  a  head  an'  a  face  like  yours —  there  was  na  ane  —  na, 
na  ane,  that  wad  rejoice  mair  ower  your  success  than  Janet,  or  my 
doo,  Maggie,  or  yer  aiu  auld  obleegd  frieu'  an'  servant, 

"  David  Elginbrod. 

"  P.  S.  —  We're  a'  weel,  an'  unco  blythe  at  5-our  letter.    Maggy  — 

"P.  S.  2. —  Dear  Mr.  Sutherland,  —  I  wrote  all  the  above  at  my  fa- 
ther's dictation,  and  just  as  he  said  it,  for  I  thought  you  would  like  his 
Scotch  better  than  my  English.  My  mother  and  I  myself  are  rejoiced 
at  the  good  news.  My  mother  fairly  grat  outright.  I  gaed  out  to  the 
tree  where  I  met  you  first.  I  wonder  sair  sometimes  if  you  was  the 
angel  I  was  to  rae«t  in  the  fir-wood.     I  am 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  Margaret  Elginbrod." 

This  letter  certainly  touched  Hugh.  But  he  could  not  help 
feeling  rather  offended  that  David  should  write  to  him  in  sucb 
a  warning  tone.  He  had  never  addressed  him  in  this  fashion 
when  he  saw  him  every  day.  Indeed,  David  could  not  very 
easily  have  spoken  to  him  thus.     But  writing  is  a  different 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  91 

thing ;  and  men  who  are  not  much  accustomed  to  use  a  pen 
often  assume  a  more  solemn  tone  in  doing  so,  as  if  it  were  a 
ceremonj  that  required  state.  As  for  David,  having  been  a 
little  uneasy  about  Hugh,  and  not  much  afraid  of  offending 
him, —  for  he  did  not  know  his  weaknesses  very  thoroughly, 
and  did  not  take  into  account  the  eifect  of  the  very  falling 
away  which  he  dreaded,  in  increasing  in  him  pride,  and  that 
impatience  of  the  gentlest  reproof  natural  to  every  man, —  he 
felt  considerably  relieved  after  he  had  discharged  his  duty  in 
this  memento  vivere.  But  one  of  the  results,  and  a  very  un- 
expected one,  was,  that  a  yet  longer  period  elapsed  before 
Hugh  wrote  again  to  David.  He  meant  to  do  so,  and  meant 
to  do  so  ;  but,  as  often  as  the  thought  occurred  to  him,  was 
checked  both  by  consciousness  and  by  pride.  So  much  con- 
tributes, not  the  evil  alone  that  is  in  us,  but  the  good  also 
sometimes,  to  hold  us  back  from  doing  the  thing  we  ought  to 
do. 

It  now  remained  for  Hugh  to  look  about  for  some  occupa- 
tion. The  state  of  his  funds  rendered  immediate  employment 
absolutely  necessary  ;  and  as  there  was  only  one  way  in  which 
he  could  earn  money  without  yet  further  preparation,  he  must 
betake  himself  to  that  way,  as  he  had  done  before,  in  the  hope 
that  it  would  lead  to  something  better.  At  all  events,  it 
would  give  him  time  to  look  about  him,  and  make  up  his  mind 
for  the  future.  Many  a  one,  to  whom  the  occupation  of  a  tu- 
tor is  far  more  irksome  than  it  was  to  Hugh,  is  compelled  to 
turn  his  acquirements  to  this  immediate  account ;  and,  once 
going  in  this  groove,  can  never  get  out  of  it  again.  But 
Hugh  was  hopeful  enough  to  think  that  his  reputation  at  the 
university  would  stand  him  in  some  stead  ;  and,  however  much 
he  would  have  disliked  the  thou^-ht  of  beino;  a  tutor  all  his 
days,  occupying  a  kind  of  neutral  territory  between  the  posi- 
tion of  a  gentleman  and  that  of  a  menial,  he  had  enough  of 
strong  Saxon  good  sense  to  prevent  him,  despite  his  Highland 
pride,  from  seeing  any  great  hardship  in  laboring  still  for  a 
little  while,  as  he  had  labored  hitherto.  But  he  hoped  to 
find  a  situation  more  desirable  than  either  of  those  he  had  oc- 
cupied before;  and,  with  this  expectation,  looked  towards  the 
South,  as  most  Scotchmen  do,  indulging  the  national  impulse 
to  spoil  the  Egyptians.     Nor  did  ho  look  long,   sending  hia 


92  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

tentacles  afloat  in  every  direction,  before  he  heard,  through 
means  of  acolle2;e  friend,  of  iust  such  a  situation  as  he  wanted 
in  the  family  of  a  gentleman  of  fortune  in  the  county  of  Sur- 
rey, not  much  more  than  twenty  miles  from  London.  Tiiis  he 
was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  Avithout  difficulty. 

Margaret  was  likewise  on  the  eve  of  a  change.  She  stood 
like  a  young  fledged  bird  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  ready  to 
take  its  first  long  flight.  It  was  necessary  that  she  should  do 
something  for  herself,  not  so  much  from  the  compulsion  of 
immediate  circumstances,  as  in  prospect  of  the  future.  Her 
father  was  not  an  old  man,  but  at  best  he  could  leave  only  a 
trifle  at  his  death  ;  and  if  Janet  outlived  him,  she  would  prob- 
ably require  all  that,  and  what  labor  she  would  then  be  capa- 
ble of  as  well,  to  support  herself.  Margaret  was  anxious,  too, 
though  not  to  be  independent,  yet  not  to  be  burdensome. 
Both  David  and  Janet  saw  that,  by  her  peculiar  tastes  and 
habits,  she  had  separated  herself  so  far  from  the  circle  around 
her  that  she  couh.l  never  hope  to  be  quite  comfortable  in  that 
neighborhood.  It  was  not  that  by  any  means  she  despised  or 
refused  the  labors  common  to  the  young  women  of  tho  country  ; 
but,  all  things  considered,  they  thought  that  something  more 
suitable  for  her  might  be  procured. 

The  laird's  lady  continued  to  behave  to  her  in  the  most  su- 
percilious manner.  The  very  day  of  Hugh's  departure  she  had 
chanced  to  meet  Margaret  walking  alone  with  a  book,  this  time 
unopened,  in  her  hand.  Mrs.  Glasford  stopped.  Margaret 
stopped  too,  expecting  to  be  addressed.  The  lady  looked  at 
her  all  over,  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  critically  examining  the 
appearance  of  an  animal  she  thought  of  purchasing  ;  then, 
without  a  word,  but  with  a  contemptuous  toss  of  the  head, 
passed  on,  leaving  poor  Margaret  both  angry  and  ashamed. 

But  David  was  much  respected  by  the  gentry  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, with  whom  his  position,  as  the  laird's  steward,  brought 
him  not  unfrequently  into  contact ;  and  to  several  of  them  he 
mentioned  his  desire  of  finding  some  situation  for  Margaret. 
Janet  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  her  ladf/-bairn  leaving  them, 
to  encounter  the  world  alone  ;  but  David,  though  he  could 
not  help  sometimes  feeling  a  similar  pang,  was  able  to  take  to 
himself  hearty  comfort  from  the  thought,  that  if  there  Avas  any 
safety  for  her  in  her  father's  house,  there  could  not  be  less  in 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  93 

her  heavenly  Father's,  in  anv  nook  of  which  she  was  as  full 
in  his  eye,  and  as  near  his  heart,  as  in  their  own  cottage. 
He  felt  that  anxiety  in  this  case,  as  in  every  other,  would  just 
be  a  lack  of  confidence  in  God,  to  suppose  which  justifiable 
would  be  equivalent  to  saying  that  he  had  not  fixed  the  foun- 
dations of  the  earth  that  it  should  not  be  moved  ;  that  he  was 
not  the  Lord  of  Life,  nor  the  Father  of  his  children;  'in 
short,  that  a  sparrow  could  fill  to  the  ground  without  him, 
and  that  the  hairs  of  our  head  are  not  numbered.  Janet 
admitted  all  this,  but  sighed  nevertheless.  So  did  David  too, 
at  times  ;  for  he  knew  that  the  sparrow  must  fall ;  that  many 
a  divine  truth  is  hard  to  learn,  all  blessed  as  it  is  when  learned  ; 
and  that  sorrow  and  suffering  must  come  to  Margaret,  ere  she 
could  be  foshioned  into  the  perfection  of  a  child  of  the  kingdom. 
Still,  she  was  as  safe  abroad  as  at  home. 

An  elderly  lady  of  fortune  was  on  a  visit  to  one  of  the  fam- 
ilies in  the  neighborhood.  She  was  in  want  of  a  lady's-maid, 
and  it  occurred  to  the  house-keeper  that  Margaret  might  suit 
her.  This  was  not  quite  what  her  parents  vrould  have  chosen, 
but  they  allowed  her  to  go  and  see  the  lady.  Margaret  was 
delighted  with  the  benevolent-looking  gentlewoman ;  and  she, 
on  her  part,  was  quite  charmed  with  Margaret.  It  was  true 
she  knew  nothing  of  the  duties  of  the  office  ;  but  the  present 
maid,  who  was  leaving  on  the  best  of  terms,  would  soon  initiate 
her  into  its  mysteries.  And  David  and  Janet  were  so  much 
pleased  with  Margaret's  account  of  the  interview,  that  David 
himself  went  to  see  the  lady.  The  sight  of  him  only  increased 
her  desire  to  have  Margaret,  whom  she  said  she  would  treat 
like  a  daughter  if  only  she  were  half  as  good  as  she  looked. 
Before  David  left  her,  the  matter  was  arranged  ;  and  within  a 
month  Margaret  was  borne  in  her  mistress'  carriage,  away' 
from  father  and  mother  and  cottao-e  home. 


94  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    NEW    HOME. 

A  wise  man's  home  is  whcrcsoe'er  he's  wise. 

JouN  Marston.  —  Antonio's  Eevengi 

Hugh  left  the  North  dead  iu  the  arms  of  gray  winter,  «nd 
found  his  new  abode  already  alive  in  the  breath  of  the  /est 
wind.  As  he  walked  up  the  avenue  to  the  house  he  felt  that 
the  buds  were  breaking  all  about,  though,  the  night  being 
dark  and  cloudy,  the  green  shadows  of  the  coming  spring  were 
invisible. 

He  was  received  at  the  hall-door,  and  shown  to  his  room,  by 
an  old,  apparently  confidential,  and  certainly  important,  but- 
ler; whose  importance,  however,  was  inoffensive,  as  founded, 
to  all  appearance,  on  a  sense  of  family  and  not  of  personal  dig- 
nity. Refreshment  was  then  brought  him,  with  the  message 
that,  as  it  was  late,  Mr.  Arnold  would  defer  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  him  till  the  morning  at  breakfast. 

Left  to  himself,  Hugh  began  to  look  around  him.  Every- 
thing suggested  a  contrast  between  his  present  position  and 
that  which  he  had  first  occupied  about  the  same  time  of  the 
year  at  Turriepuffit.  He  was  in  an  old,  handsome  room  of 
dark  wainscot,  furnished  like  a  library,  with  bookcases  about 
the  walls.  One  of  them,  with  glass  doors,  had  an  ancient  es- 
critoire underneath,  which  was  open,  and  evidently  left  empty 
for  his  use.  A  fire  was  burning  cheerfully  in  an  old  high 
grate  ;  but  its  light,  though  assisted  by  that  of  two  wax  candles 
on  the  table,  failed  to  show  the  outlines  of  the  room,  it  was  so 
large  and  dark.  Tiie  ceiling  was  rather  low  in  proportion, 
and  a  huge  beam  crossed  it.  At  one  end  an  open  door  re- 
vealed a  room  beyond,  likewise  lighted  with  fire  and  candles. 
Entering,  he  found  this  to  be  an  equally  old-fashioned  bed- 
room, to  which  his  luggage  had  been  already  conveyed. 

"  As  far  as  creature  comforts  go,"  thought  Hugh,  "I  have 
fallen  on  my  feet."'  He  rang  the  bell,  had  the  tray  removed, 
and  then  proceeded  to  examine  the  bookcases.  He  found 
them  to  contain  much  of  the  literature  with  which  he  was  most 
desirous  of  making  an  acquaintance.     A  few  books  of  the  day 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  95 

were  interspersed.  The  sense  of  having  good  companions  in 
the  authors  around  him  added  greatly  to  his  feeling  of  com- 
Tort ;  and  he  retired  for  the  night,  filled  with  pleasant  antici- 
pations of  his  sojourn  at  Arnstead.  All  the  night,  however, 
his  dreams  were  of  wind  and  snow,  and  Margaret  out  in  them 
alone.  Janet  was  waiting  in  the  cottage  for  him  to  bring  her 
home.  He  had  found  her,  but  could  not  move  her ;  for  the 
spirit  of  the  storm  had  frozen  her  to  ice,  and  she  was  heavy 
as  a  marble  statue. 

When  he  awoke,  the  shadows  of  buds  and  budding  twigs 
were  waving  in  changeful  nctwork-tracerj  across  the  bright 
sunshine  on  his  window-curtains.  Before  he  was  called  he 
was  readj  to  go  down ;  and  to  amuse  himself  till  breakfast- 
time,  he  proceeded  to  make  another  survey  of  the  books.  lie 
concluded  that  these  must  be  a  colony  from  the  mother-library ; 
and  also  that  the  room  must,  notwithstanding,  be  intended  for 
his  especial  occupation,  seeing  his  bedroom  opened  out  of  it. 
Next,  he  looked  from  ;ill  the  v/indows,  to  discover  into  what 
kind  of  a  furrow  in  the  face  of  the  old  earth  he  had  fallen. 
All  he  could  see  was  trees  and  trees.  But  oh,  how  different 
from  the  sombre,  dark,  changeless  fir-Avood  at  Turriepuffit, 
whose  trees  looked  small  and  shrunken  in  his  memory,  beside 
this  glory  of  boughs,  breaking  out  into  their  prophecy  of 
an  infinite  greenery  at  hand !  His  rooms  seemed  to  occupy 
the  end  of  a  small  Aving  at  the  back  of  the  house,  as  well  as  he 
could  judge.  His  sitting-room  AvindoAvs  looked  across  a  small 
space  to  another  wing ;  and  the  AvindoAvs  of  his  bedroom,  Avhich 
Avere  at  right-angles  to  those  of  the  former,  looked  full  into 
AA"hat  seemed  an  ordered  ancient  forest  of  gracious  trees  of  all 
kinds,  coming  almost  close  to  the  very  Aviudows.  They  Avere 
the  trees  which  had  been  throAving  their  shadows  on  these  Avin- 
doAvs  for  tAvo  or  three  iiours  of  the  silent  spring  sunlight,  at 
once  so  liquid  and  so  dazzling.  Then  he  resolved  to  test  his 
faculty  for  discoA^ery,  by  seeing  whether  he  could  find  his  way 
to  the  breakfast-room  without  a  guide.  In  this  he  Avould  have 
succeeded  Avithout  much  difficulty,  —  for  it  opened  from  the  main 
entrance  hall,  to  Avhich  the  huge  square-turned  oak  staircase, 
by  Avhich  he  had  ascended,  led,  —  had  it  not  been  for  the  some- 
what intricate  nature  of  the  passages  leading  from  the  Aving  in 
Avhich   his  rooms  Avere    (evidently  an  older  and  more  i-etired 


96  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

portion  of  the  house)  to  the  main  staircase  itself.  After  open- 
ing many  doors  and  finding  no  thorough flire,  he  became  con- 
vinced that,  in  phice  of  finding  a  way  on,  he  had  lost  the  way 
back.  At  length  he  came  to  a  small  stair,  which  led  him 
down  to  a  single  door.  This  he  opened,  and  straightway 
found  himself  in  the  library,  a  long,  low,  silent-looking  room, 
every  foot  of  the  walls  of  which  was  occupied  with  books  in 
varied  and  rich  bindings.  The  lozenge-paned  windows,  with 
thick  stone  mullions,  were  much  overgrown  with  ivy,  throw- 
ing a  cool  green  shadowiness  into  the  room.  One  of  them, 
however,  had  been  altered  to  a  more  modern  taste,  and  opened 
with  folding-doors  upon  a  few  steps,  descending  into  an  old- 
fashioned  terraced  garden.  To  approach  this  window  he  had 
to  pass  a  table,  lying  on  which  he  saw  a  paper  with  verses  on 
it,  evidently  in  a  woman's  hand,  and  apparently  just  written, 
for  the  ink  of  the  corrective  scores  still  glittered.  Just  as  he 
reached  the  window,  which  stood  open,  a  lady  had  almost 
gained  it  from  the  other  side,  coming  up  the  steps  from  the 
garden.  She  gave  a  slight  start  when  she  saw  him,  looked  away, 
and  as  instantly  glanced  tOAvards  him  again.  Then  approach- 
ing him  through  the  window,  for  he  had  retreated  to  allow  her 
to  enter,  she  bowed  with  a  kind  of  studied  ease,  and  'i  slight 
shade  of  something  French  in  her  manner.  Her  voice  was 
very  pleasing,  almost  bewitching ;  yet  had,  at  the  same  time, 
something  assumed,  if  not  affected,  in  the  tone.  All  this  was 
'discoverable,  or  rather  spiritually  palpable,  in  the  two  words 
she  said,  —  merely  "Mr.  Sutherland?"  interrogatively 
Hugh  bowed,  and  said  :  — 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  have  found  me,  for  I  had  quite  lost 
myself.  I  doubt  whether  I  should  ever  have  reached  the 
breakfast-room." 

"  Come  this  way,"  she  rejoined. 

As  they  passed  the  table  on  which  the  verses  lay,  she  stopped 
and  slipped  them  into  a  writing-case.  Leading  him  through 
a  succession  of  handsome,  evidently  modern  j^assages,  she 
brought  him  across  the  main  hall  to  the  breakfast-room,  which 
looked  in  the  opposite  direction  to  the  library,  namely,  to  the 
front  of  the  house.  She  rang  the  bell ;  the  urn  was  brought 
in,  and  she  proceeded  at  once  to  make  the  tea ;  which  she  did 
well,  rising  in  Hugh's  estimation  thereby.     Before  he  had  time. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  *  97 

liowever,  to  make  his  private  remarks  on  her  exterior,  or  his 
conjectures  on  her  position  in  the  family,  Mr.  Arnold  entered 
the  room,  Avith  a  slow,  somewhat  dignified  step,  and  a  dull 
outlook  of  gray  eyes  from  a  gray  head  well-balanced  on  a  tall, 
rather  slender  frame.  The  lady  rose,  and,  addressing  him  as 
uncle,  bade  him  good-morning ;  a  greeting  which  he  returned 
cordially,  with  a  kiss  on  her  forehead.  Then  accosting  Hugh, 
with  a  manner  which  seemed  the  more  polite  and  cold  after  the 
tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  to  his  niece,  he  bade  him  welcome 
to  Ai-nstead. 

"  I  trust  you  were  properly  attended  to  last  night,  Mr. 
Sutherland  ?  Your  pupil  wanted  very  much  to  sit  up  till  you 
arrived ;  but  he  is  altogether  too  delicate,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
for  late  hours,  though  he  has  an  unfortunate  preference  for 
them  himself  Jacob"  (to  the  man  in  waiting),  "is  not 
Master   Harry  up  yet?" 

Master  Harry's  entrance  at  that  moment  rendered  reply  un- 
necessary. 

"Good-morning,  Euphra,"  he  said  to  the  lady,  and  kissed 
her  on  the  cheek. 

"Good-morning,  dear,"  was  the  reply,  accompanied  by  a 
pretence  of  returning  the  kiss.  But  she  smiled  with  a  kind 
of  confectionery  sweetness  on  him  ;  and,  dropping  an  additional 
lump  of  sugar  into  his  tea  at  the  same  moment,  placed  it  for 
him  beside  herself;  while  he  went  and  shook  hands  with  his 
father,  and  then  glancing  shyly  up  at  Hugh  from  a  pair  of 
large  dark  eyes,  put  his  hand  in  his,  and  smiled,  revealing 
teeth  of  a  pearly  whiteness.  The  lips,  however,  did  not  con- 
trast them  sufiiciently,  being  pale  and  thin,  with  indication  of 
suifering  in  their  tremulous  lines.  Taking  his  place  at  table, 
he  trifled  with  his  breakfast ;  and  after  making  pretence  of  eat- 
ing for  a  while,  asked  Euphra  if  he  might  go.  She  giving  him 
leave,  he  hastened  away. 

Mr.  Arnold  took  advantage  of  his  retreat  to  explain  to 
Hugh  Avhat  he  expected  of  him  with  regard  to  the  boy. 

"How old  would  you  take  Harry  to  be,  INfr.  Sutherland?" 

"  I  should  say  about  twelve  from  his  size,"  replied  Hugh; 
"but  from  his  evident  bad  health,  and  intelligent  expres- 
sion—  " 

"  Ah !  you  perceive  the  state  he  is  in,"  interrupted  Mr. 
7 


98  •  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Arnold,  witli  some  sadness  in  his  voice.  "You  are  riglit;  he 
is  nearly  fifteen.  He  has  not  grown  half  an  inch  in  the  last 
twelve  months." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  better  than  growing  too  fast,"  said  Hugh. 

"Perhaps  —  perhaps;  Ave  will  hope  so.  But  I  cannot 
help  being  unoasj  about  him.  He  reads  too  much,  and  I  have 
not  yet  been  able  to  help  it ;  for  he  seems  miserable,  and  with- 
out any  object  in  life,  if  I  compel  him  to  leave  his  books." 

"  Perhaps  we  can  manage  to  get  over  that  in  a  little  while." 

"Besides,"  Mr.  Arnold  went  on,  paying  no  attention  to 
what  Hugh  said,  "I  can  get  him  to  take  no  exercise.  He 
does  not  even  care  for  riding.  I  bought  him  a  second  pony  a 
month  ago,  and  he  has  not  been  twice  on  its  back  yet." 

Hugh  could  not  help  thinking  that  to  increase  the  sup- 
ply was  not  always  the  best  mode  of  increasing  the  demand ; 
and  that  one  who  would  not  ride  the  first  pony  would  hardly 
be  likely  to  ride  the  second.  Mr.  Arnold  concluded  with  the 
words : — 

"I  don't  want  to  stop  the  boy's  reading,  but  I  can't  have 
him  a  milksop." 

"  Will  you  let  me  manage  him  as  I  please,  Mr.  Arnold?  " 
Hugh  ventured  to  say. 

Mr.  Arnold  looked  full  at  him,  with  a  very  slight  but  quite 
manifest  expression  of  surprise ;  and  Hugh  was  aware  that  the 
eyes  of  the  lady,  called  by  the  boy  Euphra,  were  likewise  fixed 
upon  him  penetratingly.  As  if  he  were  then  for  the  first  time 
struck  by  the  manly  development  of  Hugh's  frame,  Mr.  Ar- 
nold answered  :  — 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  overdo  it  cither.  You  cannot  make 
a  muscular  Christian  of  him."  (The  speaker  smiled  at  his 
own  imagined  wit.)  "The  boy  has  talents,  and  I  want  him 
to  use  them." 

"  I  will  do  my  best  for  him  both  ways,"  answered  Hugh. 
"  if  you  will  trust  me.  For  my  part,  I  think  the  only  way  is 
to  make  the  operation  of  the  intellectual  tendency  on  the  one 
side  reveal  to  the  boy  himself  his  deficiency  on  the  other.  This 
once  done,  all  will  be  well." 

As  he  said  this,  Hugh  caught  sight  of  a  cloudy,  inscrutable 
dissatisfaction  slightly  contracting  the  eyebrows  of  the  lady. 
Mr.  Arnold,  however,  seemed  not  to  be  altogether  displeased 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  99 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "  I  have  mj  plans  ;  but  let  us  see 
first  Avhat  you  can  do  with  yours.  If  they  fail,  perhaps  you 
will  oblige  me  by  trying  mine." 

This  was  said  with  the  decisive  politeness  of  one  who  is  ac- 
customed to  have  his  own  way,  and  fully  intends  to  have  it,  — 
every  word  as  articulate  and  deliberate  as  organs  of  speech 
could  make  it.  Bui  he  seemed  at  the  same  time  somewhat  im- 
pressed by  Hugh,  and  not  unwilling  to  yield. 

Throughout  the  conversation  the  lady  had  said  nothing, 
but  had  sat  watching,  or  rather  scrutinizing,  Hugh's  coun- 
teuancOj  with  a  far  keener  and  more  frequent  glance  than,  I 
presume,  he  was  at  all  aware  of.  W^hether  or  not  she  was 
satisfied  with  her  conclusions,  she  allowed  no  sign  to  disclose ; 
but,  breakfast  being  over,  rose  and  withdrew,  turning,  how- 
ever, at  the  door,  and  saying  :  — 

"When  you  please,  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
show  you  what  Harry  has  been  doing  with  me  ;  for  till  now  I 
have  been  his  only  tutor." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Hugh;'  "but  for  some  time  we 
shall  be  quite  independent  of  school-books.  Perhaps  we  may 
require  none  at  all.     He  can  read,  I  j^resume,  foirly  well  ?  " 

"Reading  is  not  only  his  forte,  but  his  fault,"  replied  Mr. 
Arnold  ;  while  Euphra,  fixing  one  more  piercing  look  upon 
him,  withdrew. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Hugh  ;  "  but  a  boy  may  shuflle  through 
a  book  very  quickly,  and  have  no  such  accurate  perceptions  of 
even  the  mere  Avords  as  to  be  able  to  read  aloud  intelligibly." 

How  little  this  applied  to  Harry,  Hugh  was  soon  to  learn. 

"Well,  you  know  best  about  these  things,  I  dare  say.  I 
leave  it  to  you.  With  such  testimonials  as  you  have,  Mr. 
Sutherland,  I  can  hardly  be  wrong  in  letting  you  try  your  own 
plans  with  him.  Now  I  must  bid  you  good-morning.  You 
will,  in  all  probability,  find  Harry  in  the  library." 


100  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

HARRY'S    NEW    HORSE. 

Spielender  Unterricht  bcisst  niclit,  dora  Kimlo  Anstrcngungcn  ersparen  und 
abnebmcn,  gondern  eino  LeiJcnschaft  in  ihm  crwccken,  welcho  ibni  die  starkston 
aufnotbigt  und  erlcicbtert. — Jean  Paul.  —  Die  Unsichtbare  Loge. 

It  is  not  the  intention  of  sportive  instruction  tbat  tbo  cbild  should  bo  spared 
effort,  or  delivered  from  it  ;  but  tbat  thereby  a  passion  should  bo  vYukoned  in  him, 
■which  shall  both  necessitate  and  facilitate  the  strongest  exertion. 

Hugh  made  no  haste  to  find  his  pupil  in  the  library ;  thinking 
it  better,  with  such  a  boy,  not  to  pounce  upon  him  as  if  he 
were  going  to  educate  him  directly.  He  went  to  his  own 
rooms  instead ;  got  his  books  out  and  arranged  them,  — ■ 
supplying  thus,  in  a  very  small  degree,  the  scarcity  of 
modern  ones  in  the  bookcases ;  then  arranged  his  small  ward- 
robe, looked  about  him  a  little,  and  finally  went  to  seek  his 
pupil. 

He  found  him  in  the  library,  as  he  had  been  given  to 
expect,  coiled  up  on  the  floor  in  a  corner,  with  his  back  against 
the  book-shelves,  and  an  old  folio  on  his  knees,  which  he  was 
reading  in  silence. 

"Well,  Harry,"  said  Hugh,  in  a  half-indifierent  tone,  as 
he  threw  himself  on  a  couch,  "  what  are  you  reading  ?  " 

Harry  had  not  heard  him  come  in.  He  started,  and  almost 
shuddered ;  then  looked  up,  hesitated,  rose,  and,  as  if  ashamed 
to  utter  the  name  of  the  book,  brought  it  to  Hugh,  opening  it 
at  the  title-page  as  he  held  it  out  to  him.  It  was  the  old 
romance  of  "  Polexander."  Hugh  knew  nothing  about  it ;  but, 
glancing  over  some  of  the  pages,  could  not  help  wondering 
that  the  bey  should  find  it  interesting. 

"  Do  you  like  this  very  much  ?  "  said  he. 

"Well  — no.     Yes,  rather." 

"  I  think  I  could  find  you  something  more  interesting  on 
the  book-shelves." 

"Oh!  please,  sir,  mayn't  I  read  this?"  pleaded  Hariy 
with  signs  of  distress  in  his  pale  face. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  101 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly,  if  you  wish.  But  tell  me  why  you 
want  to  read  it  so  very  much." 

"  Because  I  have  set  myself  to  read  it  through." 

Hugh  saw  that  the  child  was  in  a  diseased  state  of  mind  aa 
well  as  of  body. 

"You  should  not  set  yourself  to  read  anything  before  you 
know  whether  it  is  worth  reading." 

"  I  could  not  help  it.     I  was  forced  to  say  I  would." 

"To  whom?" 

"  To  myself.     Mayn't  I  read  it  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  was  all  Hugh's  answer;  for  he  saw  that  he 
must  not  pursue  the  subject  at  present :  the  boy  was  quite 
hypochondriacal.  His  face  was  keen,  Avith  that  clear  definition 
of  feature  which  suggests  superior  intellect.  He  was,  though 
very  small  for  his  age.  well  proportioned,  except  that  his  head 
and  face  were  too  large.  His  forehead  indicated  thought ;  and 
Hugh  could  not  doubt  tha.t,  however  uninteresting  the  books 
which  he  read  might  be,  they  must  have  aiforded  him  subjects 
of  mental  activity.  But  he  could  not  help  seeing  as  well,  that 
this  activity,  if  not  altered  in  its  direction  and  modified  in  its 
degree,  would  soon  destroy  itself,  either  by  ruining  his  feeble 
constitution  altogether,  or,  which  Avas  more  to  be  feared,  by 
irremediably  injuring  the  action  of  the  brain.  He  resolved, 
however,  to  let  him  satisfy  his  conscience  by  reading  the  book; 
hoping,  by  the  introduction  of  other  objects  of  thought  and 
feeling,  to  render  it  so  distasteful  that  he  would  be  in  little 
danger  of  yielding  a  similar  pledge  again,  even  should  the 
temptation  return,  which  Hugh  hoped  to  prevent. 

"  But  you  have  read  enough  for  the  present,  have  you  not?" 
said  he,  rising,  and  approaching  the  book-shelves. 

"Yes;   I  have  been  reading  since  breakfast." 

"  Ah  !  there's  a  capital  book.  Have  you  ever  read  it,  — 
'  Gulliver's  Travels '?  " 

"  No.     The  outside  looked  always  so  uninteresting." 

"  So  does  '  Polexander's '  outside." 

"Yes.     But  I  couldn't  help  that  one." 

"  Well,  come  along.     I  will  read  to  you." 

"  Oh,  thank  you.  That  will  be  delightful.  But  must  we 
not  go  to  our  lessons  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  make  a  lesson  of  this.     I  have  been  talking 


102  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

to  your  papa;  and  we're  going  to  begin  with  a  holiday,  instead 
of  ending  with  one.  I  must  get  better  acquainted  with  you 
first,  Harry,  before  I  can  teach  you  right.  We  must  be  friends, 
you  know." 

Tlie  boy  crept  close  up  to  him,  laid  one  thin  hand  on  his 
knee,  looked  in  his  face  for  a  moment,  and  then,  without  a 
word,  sat  down  on  the  couch  close  beside  him.  Before  an 
hour  had  passed  Harry  was  laughing  heartily  at  Gulliver's 
adventures  amongst  the  Liliputians.  Having  arrived  at  thia 
point  of  success,  Hugh  ceased  reading,  and  began  to  talk  to 
liim. 

"  Is  that  lady  your  cousin?  " 

"  Yes.     Isn't  she  beautiful  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  yet.  I  have  not  got  used  to  her  enough 
yet.     What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  such  a  pretty  name,  — Euphrasia." 
X  "  Is  she  the  only  lady  in  the  house  ?  " 

"Yes;  my  mamma  is  dead,  you  know.  She  was  ill  for  a 
long  time,  they  say;  and  she  died  when  I  was  born." 

The  tears  came  in  the  poor  boy's  eyes.  Hug'h  thought  of 
his  own  father,  and  put  his  hand  on  Harry's  shoulder.  Harry 
laid  his  head  on  Hugh's  shoulder. 

"  But,"  he  went  on,  "  Euphra  is  so  kind  to  me  !  And  she 
is  so  clever  too  !     She  knows  everything." 

"  Have  you  no  brothers  or  sisters  ?  " 

"  No,  none.     I  wish  I  had." 

"Well,  I'll  be  your  big  brother.  Only  you  must  mind 
what  I  say  to  you ;  else  I  shall  stop  being  him.  Is  it  a  bar- 
gain ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  to  be  sure  !  "  cried  Harry,  in  delight ;  and,  spring- 
ing from  the  couch,  he  began  hopping  feebly  about  the  room 
on  one  foot,  to  express  his  pleasure. 

"  Well,  then,  that's  settled.  Now,  you  must  come  and 
show  me  the  horses  —  your  ponies,  you  know  —  and  the 
pU,s  —  " 

"  I  don't  like  the  pigs ;   I  don't  know  where  they  are." 

"  Well,  we  must  find  out.  Perhaps  I  shall  make  some  dis- 
«    t^eries  for  you.     Have  you  any  rabbits?  " 

"  No.'.' 

"  A  dog  though,  surely?  " 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  103 

"No.  I  liad  a  canary;  but  the  cat  killed  it,  and  I  have 
never  had  a  pet  since." 

"  Well,  get  your  cap,  and  come  out  with  me.  I  will  wait 
for  you  here." 

Harry  walked  away  ;  he  seldom  ran.  He  soon  returned 
AS'ith  his  cap,  and  they  sallied  out  together. 

Happening  to  look  back  at  the  house,  when  a  few  paces 
from  it.  Hugh  thought  he  saw  Euphra  standing  at  the  window 
of  a  back  staircase.  They  made  the  round  of  the  stables, 
and  the  cow-house,  and  the  poultry -yard ;  and  even  the  pigs, 
as  proposed,  came  in  for  a  share  of  their  attention..  As  they 
approached  the  sty,  Harry  turned  away  his  head  with  a  look 
of  disgust.     They  were  eating  out  of  the  trough. 

"  They  make  such  a  nasty  noise  !  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  but  just  look  ;  don't  they  enjoy  it?"  said  Hugh. 

Harry  looked  at  them.  The  notion  of  their  enjoyment 
seemed  to  dawn  upon  him  as  somethimg  quite  new.  He  went 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  sty.  At  last  a  smile  broke  out  over 
his  countenance. 

"  How  tight  that  one  curls  his  tail!"  said  he,  and  burst 
out  lauirhins;. 

"  How  dreadfully  this  boy  must  have  been  mismanaged  !  " 
thought  Hugh  to  himself.  "  But  there's  no  fear  of  him  now, 
I  hoi3e." 

By  this  time  they  had  been  wandering  about  for  more  than 
an  hour ;  and  Hugh  saw,  by  Harry's  increased  paleness,  that 
he  was  getting  tired. 

"Here,  Harry,  get  on  my  back,  my  boy,  and  have  a  ride. 
You're  tired." 

And  Hugh  knelt  down. 

Harry  shrunk  back. 

"  1  shall  soil  your  coat  with  my  shoes." 

"  Nonsense  !  Rub  them  well  on  the  grass  there.  And 
then  get  on  my  back  directly." 

Harry  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  found  his  tutor's  broad  back 
and  strong  arms  a  very  comfortable  saddle.  So  away  they 
went,  wandering  about  for  a  long  time,  in  their  new  relation 
of  horse  and  his  rider.  At  length  they  got  into  the  middle 
of  a  long,  narrow  avenue,  quite  neglected,  overgrown  with 
weeds,  and  obstructed  with  rubbish.     But  the  trees  were  fine 


104  DAVID    ELGINBUOD. 

beeches,  of  great  growth  and  considerable  age.  One  end  led 
far  into  a  wood,  and  the  other  towards  the  house,  a  small  por- 
tion of  which  could  bo  seen  at  the  end,  the  avenue  appearing 
to  reach  close  up  to  it. 

"  Don't  go  down  this,"  said  Harry. 

"Well,  it's  not  a  vcrj  good  road  for  a  horse  certainly,  but 
I  think  I  can  go  it.  What  a  beautiful  avenue  !  Why  is  it  so 
neglected?  " 

"  Don't  go  down  there,  please,  dear  horse." 

Harry  was  getting  wonderfully  at  home  with  Hugh  already. 

"Why  J"   asked  Hugh. 

''  They  call  it  the  Gliost's  Walk,  and  I  don't  much  like  it. 
It  has  a  strange,  distracted  look." 

"That's  a  long  word,  and  a  descriptive  one  too,"  thought 
Hugh  ;  but,  considering  that  there  would  come  many  a  better 
opportunity  of  combating  the  boy's  fears  than  now,  he  simply 
said,  "Very  well,  Harry,"  and  proceeded  to  leave  the  ave- 
nue by  the  other  side.  But  Harry  was  not  yet  satis- 
fied. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Sutherland,  don't  go  on  that  side  just  now. 
Ride  me  back,  please.  It  is  not  safe,  they  say,  to  cross  her 
path.     She  always  follows  any  one  who  crosses  her  path." 

Hugh  laughed;  but  again  said,  "  Very  well,  my  boy;" 
and,  returning,  left  the  avenue  by  the  side  by  which  he  had 
entered  it. 

"  Shall  we  go  home  to  luncheon  now  ?  "  said  Harry. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Hugh.  "  Could  we  not  go  by  the  front  of 
the  house?     I  should  like  very  much  to  see  it." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  said  Harry,  and  proceeded  to  direct 
Hugh  how  to  go ;  but  evidently  did  not  know  quite  to  his  own 
satisfaction.  There  being,  however,  but  little  foliage  yet, 
Hugh  could  discover  his  way  pretty  well.  He  promised  him- 
self many  a  delightful  wander  in  the  woody  regions  in  the 
evenings. 

They  managed  to  get  round  to  the  front  of  the  house,  not 
without  some  difficulty  ;  and  then  Hugh  saw  to  his  surprise 
that,  although  not  imposing  in  appearance,  it  was  in  extern 
more  like  a  baronial  residence  than  that  of  a  simple  gentle- 
man. The  front  was  very  long,  apparently  of  all  ages,  and 
of  all  possible  styles  of  architecture,  the  result  being  some- 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  105 

what  mysterious  and  eminently  picturesque.  All  kinds  of 
windows  ;  all  kinds  of  projections  and  recesses ;  a  house  here, 
joined  to  a  hall  there ;  here  a  pointed  gable,  the  very  bell  on 
the  top  overgrown  and  apparently  choked  Avith  ivy ;  there  a 
wide  front  with  large  bay  windows  ;  and  next  a  turret  of  old 
stone,  with  not  a  shred  of  ivy  upon  it,  but  crowded  over  with 
gray-green  lichens,  which  looked  as  if  the  stone  itself  had  tak- 
en to  grownig ;  multitudes  of  roofs,  of  all  shapes  and  materials, 
so  that  one  might  very  easily  be  lost  amongst  the  chimneys 
and  gutters  and  dormer  windows  and  pinnacles,  —  made  up  the 
appearance  of  the  house  on  the  outside  to  Hugh's  first  inquir- 
ing glance,  as  he  passed  at  a  little  distance  with  Harry  on  his 
back,  and  scanned  the  wonderful  pile  before  him.  But  as  he 
looked  at  the  house  of  Arnstead,  Euphra  was  looking  at  him 
with  the  boy  on  his  back,  from  one  of  the  smaller  windows. 
A¥as  she  making  up  her  mind  ? 

"  You  are  as  kind  to  me  as  Euphra,"  said  Harry,  as  Hugh^ 
set  him  down  in  the  hall.  "  I've  enjoyed  my  ride  very  much, 
thank  you,  Mr.  Sutherland.  I  am  sure  Euphra  will  like  you 
very  much ;   she  likes  everybody." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

EUPHRASIA. 


.     .     .     then  purged  with  Euphrasy  and  Rue 
The  visual  nerve,  for  he  had  much  to  see. 

Paradise  Lost,  b.  xi. 

Soft  music  came  to  mine  ear.  It  was  like  the  rising  breeze,  that  whirls,  at  first, 
the  thistle's  beard ;  then  flics,  dark-shadowy,  over  the  grass.  It  was  the  maid  of 
Fuarfed  wild:  she  raised  the  nightly  song;  for  she  knew  that  my  soul  was  a  stream 
that  flowed  at  pleasant  sounds.  —  Ossian, —  Oina-Morul. 

Harry  led  Hugh  by  the  hand  to  the  dining-room,  a  large 
oak  hall  with  Gothic  windows,  and  an  open  roof  supported  by 


106  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

richly  carved  woodwork,  in  the  squares  amidst  which  were 
painted  many  escutcheons  parted  by  fanciful  devices.  Over 
the  high  stone  carving  above  the  chimney  hung  an  old  piece  of 
tapestry,  occupying  the  whole  space  between  that  and  the  roof. 
It  represented  a  hunting-party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  just 
setting  out.  The  table  looked  very  small  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  though  it  Avould  have  seated  twelve  or  fourteen.  It 
was  already  covered  for  luncheon ;  and  in  a  minute  Euphra 
entered  and  took  her  place  without  a  word.  Hugh  sat  on  one 
side,  and  Harry  on  the  other.  Euphra,  having  helped  both  to 
soup,  turned  to  Harry  and  said,  "  Well,  Harry,  I  hope  you 
have  enjoyed  your  first  lesson." 

'' Very  much,"  answered  Harry,  with  a  smile.  "I  have 
learned  pigs  and  horseback." 

"The  boy  is  positively  clever,"  thought  Hugh. 

"Mr.  Sutherland,"  he  continued,  "has  l3egun  to  teach 
me  to  like  creatures." 

"  But  I  thought  you  Avere  very  fond  of  your  wild-beast 
book,  Harry." 

"Oh  !  yes;  but  that  was  only  in  the  book,  you  know.  I 
like  the  stories  about  them,  of  course.  But  to  like  pigs,  you 
know,  is  quite  different.  They  are  so  ugly  and  ill-bred.  I 
like  them  though. ' ' 

"  You  seem  to  have  quite  gained  Harry  already,"  said  Eu- 
phra, glancing  at  Hugh,  and  looking  away  as  quickly. 

"  We  are  very  good  friends,  and  shall  be,  I  think,"  replied 
he. 

Harry  looked  at  him  affectionately,  and  said  to  him,  not  to 
Euphra,  "  Oh  !  yes,  that  we  shall,  I  am  sure."  Then,  turn- 
ing to  the  lady,  "Do  you  know,  Euphra,  he  is  my  big 
brother?  " 

"You  must  mind  how  you  make  new  relations,  though, 
Harry;  for  you  know  that  would  make  him  my  cousin." 

"  Well,  you  will  be  a  kind  cousin  to  him,  won't  you  ?  " 

"I  Avill  try,"  replied  Euphra,  looking  up  at  Hugh  with  a 
naive  expression  of  shyness,  and  the  slightest  possible  blush. 

Hugh  began  to  think  .her  pretty,*  almost  handsome.  His 
next  thought  was  to  wonder  how  old  she  was.  But  about  this 
he  could  not  at  once  make  up  his  mind.  She  might  be  four- 
and-twenty;   she  might  be  tv>-o-and-thirty.       She  had  black, 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  107 

lustreless  hair,  and  ejes  to  match,  as  far  as  color  was  con- 
cerni'd ;  but  they  could  sparkle,  and  probably  flash  upon 
occasion;  a  low  forehead,  but  very  finely  developed  in  the 
faculties  that  dweli  above  the  eyes  ;  slender  but  very  dark  eye- 
brows, — just  black  arched  lines  in  her  rather  sallow  complex- 
ion ;  nose  straight,  and  nothing  remarkable,  —  "an  excellent 
thing^  in  woman;"  a  mouth  indifferent  when  at  rest,  but 
capable  of  a  beautiful  laugh.  She  was  rather  tall,  and  of  a 
pretty  enough  figure ;  hands  good ;  feet  invisible.  Hugh 
came  to  these  conclusions  rapidly  enough,  now  that  his  atten- 
tion was  directed  to  her ;  for,  though  naturally  unobservant, 
his  perception  was  very  acute  as  soon  as  his  attention  was 
roused. 

''  Thank  you,"  he  replied  to  her  pretty  speech.  "  I  shall 
do  my  best  to  deserve  it." 

"  I  hope  you  will,  Mr.  Sutherland,"  rejoined  she,  with  an- 
other arch  look.      "  Take  some  wine,  Harry." 

She  poured  out  a  glass  of  sherry,  and  gave  it  to  the  boy, 
who  drank  it  with  some  eagerness.  Hugh  could  not  approve 
of  this,  but  thought  it  too  early  to  interfiere.  Turning  to  Har- 
ry, he  said  :  — 

"  Now,  Harry,  you  have  had  rather  a  tiring  morning.  I 
should  like  you  to  go  and  lie  down  awhile." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Sutherland,"  replied  Harry,  who  seemed 
rather  deficient  in  combativeness,  as  well  as  other  boyish  vir- 
tues.     "  Shall  I  lie  doAvn  in  the  library?  " 

"  No  have  a  change." 

"In  my  bedroom?" 

"  No,  I  think  not.  Go  to  my  room,  and  lie  on  the  couch 
till  I  come  to  you." 

Harry  went ;  and  Hugh,  partly  for  the  sake  of  saying  some- 
thing, and  partly  to  justify  his  treatment  of  Harry,  told  Eu- 
phra,  whose  surname  he  did  not  yet  know,  what  they  had  been 
about  all  the  morning,  ending  Avith  some  remark  on  the  view 
of  the  house  in  front.  She  heard  the  account  of  their  pro- 
ceedings with  apparent  indifference,  replying  only  to  the  re- 
mark with  which  he  closed  it :  — 

"  It  is  rather  a  large  house,  is  it  not,  for  three  —  I  beg 
your  pai'don  —  for  four  persons  to  live  in,  Mr.  Sutherland  ?  " 

''It  is,  indeed  ;  it  quite  bewilders  me." 


108  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  To  toll  the  truth,  I  don't  quite  know  above  the  half  of  it 
myself." 

Hugh  thought  this  rather  a  strange  assertion,  large  as  the 
house  was ;  but  she  Avent  on  :  — 

"  I  lost  myself  between  the  house-keeper's  room  and  my 
own.  no  later  than  last  week." 

I  suppose  there  was  a  particle  of  truth  in  this ;  and  that  slie 
had  taken  a  wrong  turning  in  an  abstracted  fit.  Perhaps  she 
did  not  mean  it  to  be  taken  as  absolutely  true. 

"  You  have  not  lived  here  long,  then?  " 

"  Not  long  for  such  a  great  place.  A  few  years.'  I  am 
only  a  poor  relation." 

She  accompanied  this  statement  with  another  swift  uplifting 
of  the  eyelids.  But  this  time  her  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on 
Hugh's,  with  something  of  a  pleading  expression ;  and  when 
they  fell,  a  slight  sigh  followed.  Hugh  felt  that  he  could  not 
quite  understand  her.  A  vague  suspicion  crossed  his  mind 
that  she  was  bewitching  laim,  but  vanished  instantly.  He 
replied  to  her  communication  by  a  smile,  and  the  remark  :  — 

"  You  have  the  more  freedom  then.  Did  you  know  Har- 
ry's mother?  "  he  added,  after  a  pause. 

"No.  She  died  when  Harry  was  born.  She  was  very 
beautiful,  and,  they  say,  very  clever,  but  always  in  extremely 
delicate  health.  Between  ourselves,  I  doubt  if  there  was 
much  sympathy,  —  that  is,  if  my  uncle  and  she  quite  under- 
stood each  otlier.      But  that  is  an  old  story." 

A  pause  followed.     Euphra  resumed  :  — 

"As  to  the  freedom  you  speak  of,  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  do 
not  quite  know  what  to  do  with  it.  I  live  here  as  if  the  place 
were  my  own,  and  give  what  orders  I  please.  But  Mr.  Ar- 
nold shows  me  little  attention, —  he  is  so  occupied  with  one- 
thing  and  another,  I  hardly  know  what ;  and  if  he  did,  per- 
haps I  should  get  tired  of  him.  So,  except  when  we  have  vis- 
itors, which  is  not  very  often,  the  time  hangs  rather  heailvy 
on  my  hands." 

"But  you  are  fond  of  reading  —  and  writing  too,  I 
suspect,"  Hugh  ventured  to  say. 

She  gave  him  another  of  her  glances,  in  which  the  apparent 
shyness  was  mingled  with  something  for  which  Hugh  could 
not  find  a  name.     Nor  did  he  suspect,  till  long  after,  that  it 


DAVID    ELGIN BROD.  109 

was  in  reality  slyness,  so  tempered  with  archness,  that,  if  dis- 
co verecl,  it  might  easily  pass  for  an  expression  playfully 
assumed. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said ;  "one  must  read  a  book  now  and  then  ; 
and  if  a  verse  "  —  again  a  glance  and  a  slight  blush  —  "  should 
come  up  from  nobody  knows  where,  one  may  as  well  write  it 
down.  But,  please,  do  not  take  me  for  a  literary  lady.  In- 
deed, I  make  not  the  slightest  pretensions.  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do  without  Harry ;  and  indeed,  indeed,  you 
must  not  steal  him  from  me,  Mr.  SutherLnd.'* 

"I  should  be  very  sorry,"  replied  Rugh.  "Let  me  beg 
you,  as  far  as  I  have  a  right  to  do  so,  oO  join  us  as  often  and 
as  long  as  you  please.  I  will  go  and  see  how  he  is.  I  am 
sure  the  boy  only  wants  thorough  r(  using,  alternated  with 
perfect  repose." 

He  went  to  his  own  room,  where  ha  found  Harry,  to  his 
satisfaction,  fast  asleep  on  the  sofa.  He  took  care  not  to 
wake  him,  but  sat  down  beside  him  to  read  till  his  sleep  should' 
be  over.  But,  a  moment  after,  the  boy  opened  his  eyes  witli^ 
a  start  and  a  shiver,  and  gave  a  slight  cry.  When  he  saw 
Hugh,  he  jumped  up,  and  with  a  smile  which  was  pitiful  tfl 
see  upon  a  scared  face,  said  :  — 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  you  are  there." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Harry?" 

"  I  had  a  dreadful  dream." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  I  don't  know.  It  always  comes.  It  is  always  the  same. 
I  know  that.     And  yet  I  can  never  remember  what  it  is." 

Hugh  soothed  him  as  well  as  he  could ;  and  he  needed  it, 
for  the  cold  drops  were  standing  on  his  forehead.  When  he 
had  grown  calmer,  he  went  and  fetched  "Gulliver,"  and,  to  the 
boy's  great  delight,  read  to  him  till  dinner-time.  Before  the 
first  bell  rang  he  had  quite  recovered,  and  indeed  seemed 
rather  interested  in  the  approach  of  dinner. 

Dinner  was  an  affair  of  some  state  at  Arnstead.  Almost 
immediately  after  the  second  bell  had  rung,  Mr.  Arnold  made 
his  appearance  in  the  drawing-room,  where  the  others  were 
already  waiting  for  him.  This  room  had  nothing  of  the  dis- 
tinctive character  of  the  parts  of  the  house  which  Hugh  had 
already  seen.     It  was  merely  a  handsome  modern  room,  of  no 


110  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

great  size.     Mr.    Arnold  led   Euplira  to   dinner^   and  Hugh 
followed  with  Ilarrj. 

Mr.  Arnold's  manner  to  Hugh  was  the  same  as  in  the 
morning,  —  studiously  polite,  ■without  the  smallest  approach  to 
cordiality.  He  addressed  him  as  an  equal,  it  is  true ;  hut  an 
equal  who  could  never  be  in  the  smallest  danger  of  thinking 
he  meant  it.  Hugh,  who,  without  having  seen  a  great  deal  of 
the  world,  yet  felt  much  the  same  wherever  he  was,  took  care 
to  give  him  all  that  he  seemed  to  look  for,  as  far  at  least  as 
Avas  consistent  with  his  own  self-respect.  He  soon  discovered 
that  he  was  one  of  those  men,  who,  if  you  will  only  grant  their 
position,  and  acknowledge  their  authority,  will  allow  you  to 
have  much  your  own  Avay  in  everything.  His  servants  had 
found  this  out  long  ago,  and  almost  everything  about  the  house 
was  managed  as  they  pleased  ;  but  as  the  oldest  of  them  were 
respectable  family  servants,  nothing  went  very  far  wrong. 
They  all,  however,  waited  on  Euphra  with  an  assiduity  that 
showed  she  was,  or  could  be,  quite  mistress  Avhen  and  where 
she  pleased.  Perhaps  they  had  found  out  that  she  had  great 
influence  with  Mr.  Arnold :  and  certainly  he  seemed  very  fond* 
of  her  indeed,  after  a  stately  fashion.  She  spoke  to  the  serv- 
ants with  peculiar  gentleness;  never  said.  If  you  please ;  but 
always,  Thanh  you.  Harry  never  asked  for  anything,  but 
always  looked  to  Euphra,  who  gave  the  necessary  order. 
Plugh  saw  that  the  boy  was  quite  -dependent  upon  her,  seeming 
of  himself  scarcely  capable  of  originating  the  simplest  action. 
Mr.  Arnold,  however,  dull  as  he  was,  could  not  help  seeing 
that  Harry's  manner  was  livelier  than  usual,  and  seemed 
pleased  at  the  slight  change  already  visible  for  the  better. 
Turning  to  Hugh,  lie  said  :  — 

"Do  you  find  Harry  very  much  behind  with  his  studies, 
Mr.  Sutherland?" 

"  I  have  not  yet  attempted  to  find  out,"  replied  Hugh. 

"  Not?"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  with  surprise. 

"  No.     If  he  be  behind,  I  feel  confident  it  Avill  not  be  for 
long." 

"  But,"    began    Mr.    Arnold,    pompously  ;    and    then    he 
paused. 

"You  were  kind  enough  to  say,  Mr.  Arnold,  that  I  might 
try  my  own  plans  with  him  first.     I  have  been  doing  so." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  Ill 

"Yes — certain!  J.     But  —  " 

Here  Harry  broke  in  tvith  some  animation:  — 

"iMr.  Sutherland  has  been  my  horse,  carrying  me  about  on 
his  back  all  the  morning, — no,  not  all  the  morning;  but  an 
hour,  or  an  hour  and  a  half,  or  was  it  two  hours,  Mr. 
Sutherland?  " 

"  I  really  don't  know,  Harry,"  answered  Hugh.  "  I  don't 
think  it  matters  much." 

Harry  seemed  relieved,  and  went  on  :  — 

"He  has  been  reading  'Gulliver's  Travels'  tome  —  oh, 
such  fun  !  And  we  have  been  to  see  the  cows  and  the  pigs  ; 
and  Mr.  Sutherland  has  been  teaching  me  to  jump.  Do  you 
know,  papa,  he  jumped  right  over  the  pony's  back  without 
touching  it." 

Mr.  Arnold  stared  at  the  boy  with  lustreless  eyes  and 
hanging  cheeks.  These  grew  red  as  if  he  were  going  to  choke. 
Such  behavior  was  quite  inconsistent  with  the  dignity  of 
Arnstead  and  its  tutor,  who  had  been  recommended  to  him  as  a 
tliorough  gentleman.  But  for  the  present  he  said  nothing ; 
probably  because  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 

"  Certainly  Harry  seems  better  already,"  interposed  Euphra. 
"  I  cannot  help  thinking  Mr.  Sutherland  has  made  a  good  be- 
ginning." 

Mr.  Arnold  did  not  reply,  but  the  cloud  wore  away  from  his 
face  by  degrees ;  and  at  length  he  asked  Hugh  to  take  a  glass 
of  wine  with  him. 

When  Euphra  rose  from  the  table,  and  Harry  followed  her 
example,  Hugh  thought  it  better  to  rise  as  well.  Mr.  Arnold 
seemed  to  hesitate  whether  or  not  to  ask  him  to  resume  his  seat 
and  have  a  glass  of  claret.  Had  he  been  a  little  wizened  peda- 
gogue, no  doubt  he  would  have  insisted  on  his  company,  sure 
of  acquiescence  from  him  in  every  sentiment  he  might  happen 
to  utter.  But  Hugh  really  looked  so  very  much  like  a  gentle- 
man, and  stated  his  own  views,  or  adopted  his  own  plans,  with 
so  much  independence,  that  Mr.  Arnold  judged  it  safer  to  keep 
him  at  arm's  length  for  a  season  at  least,  till  he  should  thor- 
oughly understand  his  position,  —  not  that  of  a  guest,  but  that 
of  his  son's  tutor,  belonging  to  the  household  of  Arnstead  only 
on  approval. 

On   leaving  the  dining-room,  Hugh  hesitated,  in  his  tura; 


112  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

whether  to  betake  himself  to  his  own  room,  or  to  accompany 
Euphra  to  the  drawing-room,  the  door  of  which  stood  open  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  revealing  a  brightness  and  warmth, 
which  the  chill  of  the  evening  and  the  lowncss  of  the  fire  in 
the  dining-room  rendered  quite  enticing.  But  Euphra,  who 
was  half  across  the  hall,  seeming  to  divine  his  thoughts,  turned, 
and  said,  ' '  Arc  you  not  going  to  favor  us  witli  your  company, 
Mr.  Sutherland  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  replied  Hugh ;  but,  to  cover  his  hesita- 
tion, added,  "  I  will  be  with  you  presently ;  "  and  ran  upstairs 
to  his  own  room.  "The  old  gentleman  sits  on  his  dignity; 
can  hardly  be  said  to  stand  on  it,"  thought  he,  as  he  went. 
"  The  poor  relation,  as  she  calls  herself,  treats  me  like  a  guest. 
She  is  mistress  here  however;  that  is  clear  enough." 

As  he  descended  the  stairs  to  the  draAving-room  a  voice  rose 
through  the  house,  like  the  voice  of  an  ano-el.  At  least  so 
thought  Hugh,  hearing  it  for  the  first  time.  It  seemed  to 
take  his  breath  away,  as  he  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  stairs, 
listening.  It  was  only  Euphra  singing,  "  The  Flowers  of  the 
Forest."  The  drawing-room  door  was  still  open,  and  her  voice 
rang  through  the  Avide,  lofty  hall.  He  entered  almost  on 
tiptoe,  that  he  might  lose  no  thread  of  the  fine  tones.  Had 
she  chosen  the  song  of  Scotland  out  of  compliment  to  him  ?  She 
saw  him  enter,  but  went  on  without  hesitating  even.  In  the 
high  notes,  her  voice  had  that  peculiar  vibratory  richness  which 
belongs  to  the  mghtingale's ;  but  he  could  not  help  thinking 
that  the  low  tones  were  deficient  both  in  quality  and  volume. 
The  expression  and  execution,  however,  would  have  made  up 
for  a  thovisand  defects.  Her  very  soul  seemed  brooding  over 
the  dead  upon  Flodden  field,  as  she  sang  this  most  wailful  of 
melodies  —  this  embodiment  of  a  nation's  grief.  The  song 
died  away  as  if  the  last  breath  had  gone  with  it ;  failing  as  it 
failed,  and  ceasing  with  its  inspiration,  as  if  the  voice  that  sang 
lived  only  for  and  in  the  song.  A  moment  of  intense  silence 
followed.  Then,  before  Hugh  had  half  recovered  from  the  for- 
mer, with  an  almost  grand  dramatic  recoil,  as  if  the  second 
sprang  out  of  the  first,  like  an  eagle  of  might  out  of  an  ocean 
of  weeping,  she  burst  into  "  Scots  whahae."  She  might  have 
been  a  new  Deborah,  heraldino-  her  nation  to  battle.  Hugh 
was  transfixed,    turned  icy-cold,   with  the  excitement   of  his 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  113 

favorite  song  so  sung.  "Was  that  a  glance  of  satisfied  triumph 
■with  which  Euphra  looked  at  him  for  a  single  moment  ?  She 
sang  the  rest  of  the  song  as  if  the  battle  were  already  gained  ; 
but  looked  no  more  at  Hugh. 

The  excellence  of  her  tones,  and  the  lambent  fluidity  of  her 
transitions,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  phrase,  were  made  by  her 
art  quite- subservient  to  the  expression,  and  owed  their  chief 
value  to  the  share  they  bore  in  producing  it.  Possibly  there 
was  a  little  too  much  of  the  dramatic  in  her  singing,  but  it  was 
all  in  good  taste ;  and,  in  a  word,  Hugh  had  never  heard  such 
singing  before.  As  soon  as  she  had  finished,  she  rose,  and  shut 
the  piano. 
^  "Do  not,  do  not,"  faltered  Hugh,  seeking  to  arrest  her 
hand,  as  she  closed  the  instrument. 

"  I  can  sing  nothing  after  that,"  she  said  with  emotion,  or 
perhaps  excitement ;  for  the  trembling  of  her  voice  might  be 
attributed  to  either  cause.      ' '  Do  not  ask  me. ' ' 

Hugh  respectfully  desisted ;  but  after  a  few  minutes'  pause* 
ventured  to  remark  :  — 

"  I  cannot  understand  how  you  should  be  able  to  sing  Scotch 
songs  so  well.  I  never  heard  any  but  Scotch  women  sing 
them,  even  endurably,  before ;  your  singing  of  them  is  per- 
fect." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Euphra,  speaking  as  if  she  would 
rather  have  remained  silent,  ' '  that  a  true  musical  penetration 
is  independent  of  styles  and  nationalities.  It  can  perceive,  or 
rather  feel^  and  reproduce,  at  the  same  moment.  If  the  music 
speaks  Scotch,  the  musical  nature  hears  Scotch.  It  can  take 
any  shape,  indeed  cannot  help  taking  any  shape,  presented  to 
it." 

Hugh  was  yet  further  astonished  by  this  criticism  from  one 
whom  he  had  been  criticising  with  so  much  carelessness  that 
very  day. 

"  You  think,  then,"  said  he,  modestly,  not  as  if  he  would 
bring  her  to  book,  but  as  really  seeking  to  learn  from  her,  • 
' '  that  a  true  musical  nature  can  pour  itself  into  the  mould  of 
any  song,    in  entire  independence  of  association  and    educa- 
tion ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  in  independence  of  any  but  what  it  may  provide  for 
itself."     • 

*8 


114  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Euphrasia,  however,  had  left  one  important  element  un- 
represented in  the  construction  of  her  theory,  —  namely,  the 
degree  of  capability  Avhich  a  mind  may  possess  of  sympathy 
with  any  given  class  of  feelings.  The  blossom  of  the  mind, 
■whether  it  flower  in  poetry,  music,  or  any  other  art,  must  be 
the  exponent  of  the  nature  and  condition  of  that  whose  blossom 
it  is.  No  mind,  therefore,  incapable  of  sympathizing  with  the 
feelings  whence  it  sprinu,s,  can  interpret  the  music  of  another. 
And  Euphra  herself  was  rather  a  remarkable  instance  of  this 
forgotten  fact. 

Further  conversation  on  the  sulyect  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  Mr.  Arnold,  who  looked  rather  annoyed  at  finding 
Hugh  in  the  drawing-room,  and  ordered  Harry  off  to  bed,^ 
with  some  little  asperity  of  tone.  The  boy  rose  at  once,  rang 
the  bell,  bade  them  all  good-night,  and  went.  A  servant  met 
him  at  the  door  with  a  candle,  and  accompanied  him. 

Thought  Hugh  :  "  Here  are  several  things  to  be  righted  at 
once.  The  boy  must  not  have  wine,  and  he  must  have  only 
one  dinner  a  day;  especially  if  he  is  ordered  to  bed  so  early. 
I  must  make  a  man  of  him  if  I  can.'" 

He  made  inquiries,  and,  Avith  some  difficulty,  found  out 
where  the  boy  slept.  During  the  night  he  was  several  times 
in  Harry's  room,  and  once  in  happy  time  to  wake  him  from  a 
nightmare  dream.  The  boy  Avas  so  overcome  with  terror, 
that  Huo^h  got  into  bed  beside  him,  and  comforted  him  to  sleep 
in  his  arms.  Nor  did  he  leave  him  till  it  was  time  to  get  up, 
when  he  stole  back  to  his  own  quarters,  which,  happily,  were 
at  no  very  great  distance. 

I  may  mention  here,  that  it  was  not  long  before  Hugh  suc- 
ceeded in  stopping  the  Avine,  and  reducing  the  dinner  to  a 
mouthful  of  supper.  Harry,  as  far  as  he  Avas  concerned, 
yielded  at  once ;  and  his  father  only  held  out  long  enough  to 
satisfy  his  own  sense  of  dignity. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  ^  15 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE    CAVE    IN    THE    STRAW. 

All  knowledge  and  wonder  (which  is  the  seed  of  knowledge)  is  an  impression  of 
pleasure  iu  itself.  — Lord  Bacon.  — Advancement  of  Learning. 

The  following  morning  dawned  in  a  cloud  ;  which,  swathed 
about  the  trees,  wetted  them  down  to  the  roots,  without  having 
time  to  become  rain.  They  drank  it  in.  like  sorrow,  the  only 
material  out  of  which  true  joy  can  be  fashioned.  This  cloud 
of  mist  would  yet  glimmer  in  a  new  heaven,  namely,  in  the 
cloud  of  blooms  which  would  clothe  the  limes  and  the  chestnuts 
and  the  beeches  along  the  ghost's  walk.  But  there  was  gloomy 
weather  within  doors  as  well ;  for  poor  Harry  was  especially 
sensitive  to  variations  of  the  barometer,  without  being  in  the 
least  aAvare  of  the  fact  himself  Again  Hugh  found  him  ia 
tho  library,  seated  in  his  usual  corner,  with  "  Polexander  "  on 
his  knees.  He  half  drojiped  the  book  when  Hugh  entered, 
and  murmured  with  a  sigh  :  — 

"  It's  no  use ;   I  can't  read  it." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Harry?  "  said  his  tutor. 

"  I  should  like  to  tell  you ;  but  you  will  laugh  at  me.'^ 

"  I  shall  never  laugh  at  you,  Harry." 

"Never?" 

"  No,  never." 

"  Then  tell  me  how  I  can  be  sure  that  I  have  read  this 
book." 

'"I  do  not  quite  understand  you." 

"  Ah  !  I  was  sure  nobody  could  be  so  stupid  as  I  am.  Do 
you  know,  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  seem  to  have  read  a  page  fron> 
top  to  bottom  sometimes,  and  when  I  come  to  the  bottom  i 
know  nothing  about  it,  and  doubt  whether  I  have  read  it  at  all; 
and  then  I  stare  at  it  all  over  again,  till  I  grow  so  queer,  and 
sometimes  nearly  scream.  You  see  I  must  be  able  to  say  I 
have  read  the  book." 

"  Why  ?     Nobody  will  ever  ask  you." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  you  know  that  is  nothing.  I  want  to 
know  that  1  have  read  the  book ;    really  and  truly  read  it." 

Hush  thought  for  a  moment,  and  seemed   to   see   that  the 


116  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

boj,  not  being  strong  enough  to  be  a  law  to  himself,  just  needed 
a  benign  law  from  without,  to  lift  him  from  the  chaos  of  fee- 
ble and  conflicting  notions  and  impulses  within,  which  gener- 
ated a  false  law  of  slavery.      So  he  said  :  — 

"Harrj,  am  I  your  big  brother?  " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

"Then  ought  you  to  do  what  I  wish,  or  what  you  wish 
yourself?  " 

"  What  you  wish,  sir." 

"  Then  I  want  you  to  put  away  that  book  for  a  month  at 
least." 

"  0  Mr.  Sutherland  !     I  promised." 

"To  whom?" 

"To  myself" 

"  But  I  am  above  you ;  and  I  want  you  to  do  as  I  tell  you. 
Will  you,  Harry?" 

"Yes." 

"  Put  away  the  book,  then." 

Harry  sprang  to  his  feet,  put  the  book  on  its  shelf,  and, 
going  up  to  Hugh,  said  :  — 

"  You  have  done  it,  not  me." 

"  Certainly,  Harry." 

The  notions  of  a  hypochondriacal  child  will  hardly  be  in- 
teresting to  the  greater  part  of  my  readers ;  but  Hugh  learned 
from  this  a  little  lesson  about  divine  law  which  he  never  for- 
got. 

"  Now,  Harry,"  added  he,  "you  must  not  open  a  book  till 
I  allow  you." 

' '  No  poetry  either  ?  ' '  said  poor  Harry ;  and  his  face 
fell. 

"  I  don't  mind  poetry  so  much  ;  but  of  prose  I  will  read  as 
much  to  you  as  will  be  good  for  you.  Come,  let  us  have  a 
bit  of  'Gulliver'  again." 

"  Oh,  how  delightful !  "  cried  Harry.  "  I  am  so  glad  you 
made  me  put  away  that  tiresome  book.  I  wonder  why  it  in- 
sisted so  on  being  read." 

Hugh  read  for  an  hour,  and  then  made  Harry  put  on  his 
cloak,  notwithstanding  the  rain,  which  fell  in  a  slow,  thought- 
ful spring-shower.  Taking  the  boy  again  on  his  back,  he 
carried  him  into  the  woods.     There  he  told  him  how  the  drops 


DAVID    ELGINBROU.    '  117 

of  wet  sank  into  the  ground,  and  then  wen'b  running  about 
through  it  iiv  everj  direction,  looking  for  seeds ;  which  were  all 
thirsty  little  things,  that  wanted  to  grow,  and  could  not,  till  a 
drop  came  and  gave  them  drink.  And  he  told  him  how  the 
rain-drops  were  made  up  in  the  skies,  and  then  came  down, 
like  millions  of  angels,  to  do  what  they  were  told  in  the  dark 
earth.  The  good  drops  went  into  all  the  cellars  and  dufigeons 
of  the  earth,  to  let  out  the  imprisoned  flowers.  And  he  told 
him  how  the  seeds,  when  thej  had  drunk  the  rain-drops, 
wanted  another  kind  of  drink  next,  which  was  much  thinner 
and  much  stronger,  but  could  not  do  them  any  good  till  they 
had  drunk  the  rain  first. 

"What  is  that?"  said  Harry.  "I  feel  as  if  you  were 
reading  out  of  the  Bible,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

"  It  is  the  sunlight,"  answered  his  tutor.  "When  a  seed 
has  drunk  of  the  water,  and  is  not  thirsty  any  more,  it  wants 
to  breathe  next ;  and  then  the  sun  sends  a  long,  small  finger ' 
of  fire  down  into  the  grave  where  the  seed  is  lying,  and  it 
touches  the  seed,  and  something  inside  the  seed  begins  to  move 
instantly  and  to  grow  bigger  and  bigger  till  it  sends  up  two 
green  blades  out  of  it  into  the  earth,  and  through  the  earth 
into  the  air ;  and  then  it  can  breathe.  And  then  it  sends  roots 
down  into  the  earth  ;  and  the  roots  keep  drinking  water,  and 
the  leaves  keep  breathing  the  air,  and  the  sun  keeps  them  alive 
and  busy ;  and  so  a  great  tree  grows  up,  and  God  looks  at  it, 
and  says  it  is  good." 

"  Then  they  really  are  living  things  ?  "  said  Harry. 

"  Certainly." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  don't  think  I  shall  dislike 
rain  so  much  any  more."  • 

Hugh  took  him  next  into  the  barn,  where  they  found  a  great 
heap  of  straw.  Recalling  his  own  boyish  amusements,  he  made 
him  put  off  his  cloak,  and  help  to  make  a  tunnel  into  this  heap. 
Harry  was  delighted,  — the  straw  was  so  nice,  and  bright,  and 
dry,  and  clean.  They  drew  it  out  by  handfuls,  and  thus  ex- 
cavated a  round  tunnel  to  the  distance  of  six  feet  or  so,  when 
Hugh  proceeded  to  more  extended  operations.  Before  it  was 
time  to  go  to  lunch,  they  had  cleared  half  of  a  hollow  sphere, 
BIX  feet  in  diameter,  out  of  the  heart  of  the  heap. 

After  lunch,  for  which  Harry  had  been  very  unwilling  to 


118  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

relinquish  the  straw  hut,  Hugh  sent  him  to  lie  down  for  a 
•while ;  when  he  fell  fast  asleep  as  before.  After  he  had  left 
the  room,  Euphra  said  :  — 

"  How  do  you  get  on  with  Harrj.  Mr    Sutherland?  " 

"  Perfectly  to  my  satisfaction,"  answered  Hugh. 

"  Do  you  not  find  him  very  slow  ?  " 

"  Quite  the  contrary." 

"You  surprise  me.  But  you  have  not  given  him  any 
lessons  yet." 

"  I  have  given  him  a  great  many,  and  he  is  learning  them 
very  fast." 

"  I  fear  he  will  have  forgotten  all  my  poor  labors  before  you 
talce  up  the  work  where  we  left  it.  When  will  you  give  him 
any  book-lessons  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  while  yet." 

Euphra  did  not  reply.  Her  silence  seemed  intended  to  ex- 
press dissatisfaction  ;  at  least  so  Hugh  interpreted  it. 

"I  hope  you  do  not  think  it  is  to  indulge  myself  that  I 
manage  Master  Harry  in  this  peculiar  fashion,"  he  said. 
"  The  fact  is,  he  is  a  very  peculiar  child,  and  may  turn  out  a 
genius  or  a  weakling,  just  as  he  is  managed.  At  least,  so  it 
appears  to  me  at  present.  May  I  ask  where  you  left  the  work 
you  were  doing  with  him  ?  " 

"  He  was  going  through  the  Eton  grammar  for  the  third 
time,"  answered  Euphra,  with  a  defiant  glance,  almost  of  dis- 
like, at  Hugh.  •'  But  I  need  not  enumerate  his  studies,  for  I 
dare  say  you  will  not  take  them  up  at  all  after  my  fashion.  I 
only  assure  you  I  have  been  a  very  exact  disciplinarian. 
What  he  knows,  I  think  you  will  find  he  knows  thoroughly." 

So  saying,  Ei^phra  rose,  and,  with  a  flush  on  her  cheek, 
walked  out  of  the  room  in  a  more  stately  manner  than  usual. 

Hugh  felt  that  he  had,  somehow  or  other,  offended  her. 
But,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  much  care,  for  her  manner 
had  rather  irritated  him.  He  retired  to  his  own  room,  wrote 
to  his  mother,  and,  when  Harry  awoke,  carried  him  again  to 
the  barn  for  an  hour's  work  in  the  straw.  Before  it  grew 
dusk,  they  had  finished  a  little,  silent,  dark  chamber,  as 
round  as  they  could  make  it,  in  the  heart  of  the  straw.  AH 
the  excavated  material  they  had  thrown  on  the  top,  reserving 
only  a  little  to  close  up  tlw  entrance  when  they  pleased. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  119 

The  next  morning  was  still  r.iiny;  and  when  Hugh  found 
HaiTj  in  the  library  as  usual,  he  saw  that  the  clouds  had 
again  gathered  over  the  boy's  spirit.  lie  was  pacing  about 
the  room  in  a  very  odd  manner.  The  carpet  was  divided 
diamond-wise  in  a  regular  pattern.  Harry's  steps  were,  for 
the  most  part,  planted  upon  every  third  diamond,  as  he  slowly 
crossed  the  floor  in  a  variety  of  directions  ;  for,  as  on  previous 
occasions,  he  had  not  perceived  the  entrance  of  his  tutor. 
But,  every  now  and  then,  the  boy  would  make  the  most  sud- 
den and  irregular  change  in  his  mode  of  progression,  setting 
his  foot  on  the  most  unexpected  diamond,  at  one  time  the 
nearest  to  him,  at  another  the  farthest  within  his  reach. 
When  he  looked  up,  and  saw  his  tutor  watching  him,  he 
neither  started  nor  blushed ;  but,  still  retaininir  on  his  coun- 
tenance the  perplexed,  anxious  expression  which  Hugh  had 
remarked,  said  to  him  :  — 

"  HDw  can  God  know  on  which  of  those  diamonds  I  am 
going  to  set  my  foot  next?" 

"  If  you  could  understand  how  God  knows,  Harry,  then  you 
would  know  yourself;  but  before  you  have  made  up  your 
mind,  you  don't  know  which  you  will  choose;  and  even  then 
you  only  know  on  which  you  intend  to  set  your  foot,  for  you 
have  often  changed  your  mind  after  making  it  up." 

Harry  looked  as  puzzled  as  before. 

"  Why,  Harry,  to  understand  how  God  understands,  you 
would  need  to  be  as  wise  as  he  is ;  so  it  is  no  use  trying. 
You  see  you  can't  quite  -understand  me,  though  I  have  a  real 
meaning  in  what  I  say." 

"  Ah  !   I  see  it  is  no  use ;  but  I  can't  bear  to  be  puzzled." 

"  But  you  need  not  be  puzzled  ;  you  have  no  business  to  be 
puzzled.  You  are  trying  to  get  into  your  little  brain  what  ia 
far  too  grand  and  beautiful  to  get  into  it.  Would  you  not 
think  it  very  stupid  to  puzzle  yourself  how  to  put  a  hundred 
horses  into  a  stable  with  twelve  stalls?  " 

Harry  laughed,  and  looked  relieved. 

"It  is  more  unreasonable  a  thousand  times  to  ti-y  to  under- 
stand such  things.  For  my  part,  it  would  make  me  miserable 
to  think  that  there  was  nothing  but  what  I  could  understand.  I 
should  feel  as  if  I  had  no  room  anywhere.  Shall  we  go  to 
our  cave  ajjain?  " 


120  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  please,"  cried  Harry  ;  and  in  a  moment  lie  was 
on  Hugh's  back  once  more,  cantering  joyously  to  the  barn. 

After  various  improvements,  including  some  enlargement  of 
the  interior,  Hugh  and  Harry  sat  down  together  in  the  low 
yellow  twilight  of  their  cave,  to  enjoy  the  result  of  their 
labors.  They  could  just  see,  by  the  light  from  the  tunnel,  the 
glimmer  of  the  golden  hollow  all  about  them.  The  rain  was 
falling  heavily  out-of-doors ;  and  they  could  hear  the  sound  of 
the  multitudinous  drops  of  the  broken  cataract  of  the  heavens 
like  the  murmur  of  the  insects  in  a  summer  wood.  They 
knew  that  everything  outside  was  rained  upon,  and  was  again 
raining  on  everything  beneath  it,  while  they  were  dry  and 
warm. 

"  This  is  nice  !  "  exclaimed  Harry,  after  a  few  moments  of 
silent  enjoyment. 

"  This  is  your  first  lesson  in  architecture,"  said  Hugh. 

"Am  I  to  learn  architecture?  "  asked  Harry,  in  a  rueful 
tone. 

"It  is  well  to  know  Jioiu  things  came  to  be  done,  if  you 
should  know  nothing  more  about  them,  Harry.  Men  lived  in 
the  cellars  first  of  all,  and  next  on  the  ground  floor  ;  but  they 
could  get  no  further  till  they  joined  the  two,  and  then  they 
could  build  higher." 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,  sir." 

"  I  did  not  mean  you  should,  Harry." 

"Then  I  don't  mind,  sir.  But  I  thought  architecture  was 
building. ' ' 

"So  it  is  ;  and  this  is  one  way  of  building.  It  is  only 
making  an  outside  by  pulling  out  an  inside,  instead  of  making 
an  inside  by  setting  up  an  outside." 

Harry  thought  for  a  while,  and  then  said,  joyfully :  — 

"I  see  it,  sir !  I  see  it.  The  inside  is  the  chief  thing  — 
not  the  outside." 

"  Yes,  Harry;  and  not  in  architecture  only.  Never  forget 
that." 

They  lay  for  some  time  in  silence,  listening  to  the  rain. 
At  length  Harry  spoke :  — 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  what  you  told  me  yesterday,  Mr. 
Sutherland,  about  the  rain  going  to  look  for  the  seeds  that 
wore  thirsty  for  it.     And  now  I  feel  just  as  if  I  were  a  seed, 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  '  1£1 

lying  in  its  little  hole  in  the  earth,  and  hearing  the  rain-dropg 
pattering  down  all  about  it,  Avaiting  — j^h,  so  thirsty  !  —  for 
some  kind  drop  to  find  me  out,  and  give  me  itself  to  drink.  I 
wonder  what  kind  of  flower  I  should  grow  up,"  added  he, 
lau;2;hino;. 

'  •  There  is  more  truth  than  you  think,  in  jour  pretty  fancy, 
Harry,"  rejoined  Hugh,  and  was  silent  —  self-rebuked;  for  the 
memory  of  David  came  back  upon  him,  recalled  by  the  words 
of  the  boy  :  of  David,  whom  he  loved  and  honored  with  the 
best  powers  of  his  nature,  and  Avhom  yet  he  had  neglected  and 
seemed  to  forget ;  nay,  whom  he  had  partially  forgotten,  he 
could  not  deny.  The  old  man,  whose  thoughts  were  just  those 
of  a  wise  child,  had  said  to  him  once  :  — ^ 

"  We  ken  no  more,  Maister  Sutherlan',  what  we're  growin' 
till,  than  that  neep-seed  there  kens  wdiat  a  neep  is,  though  a 
neep  it  will  be.  The  only  odds  is,  that  we  ken  that  we  dinna 
ken,  and  the  neep-seed  kens  nothing  at  all  aboot  it.  But  ae 
thing,  Maister  Sutherlan',  we  may  be  sure  o'  :  that  whatever 
it  be,  it  will  be  worth  God's  makin'  an'  our  growin'." 

A  solemn  stillness  fell  upon  Hugh's  spirit,  as  he  recalled 
these  words ;  out  of  which  stillness,  I  presume,  grew  the  little 
parable  which  follows ;  though  Hugh,  after  he  had  learned  far 
more  about  the  things  therein  hinted  at,  could  never  under- 
stand how  it  was,  that  he  could  have  put  so  much  more  into  it, 
than  he  seemed  to  have  understood  at  that  period  of  his 
history. 

Eor  Harry  said  :  — 

"  Wouldn't  this  be  a  nice  place  for  a  story,  Mr.  Sutherland? 
Do  you  ever  tell  stories,  sir  ?  " 

"I  was  just  thinking  of  one,  Harry;  but  it  is  as  much 
yours  as  mine,  for  you  sowed  the  seed  of  the  story  in  my 
mind." 

"  Do  you  mean  a  story  that  never  was  in  a  book,  — a  story 
out  of  your  own  head?     Oh,  that  will  be  grand!  " 

^'"\Yait  till  we  see  what  it  will  be,  Harry:  for  I  can't  tell 
yet  how  it  will  turn  out." 

After  a  little  further  pause,  Hugh  began :  — 

"Long,  long  ago,  two  seeds  lay  beside  each  other  in  the 
earth,  waiting.  It  was  cold,  and  rather  wearisome;  and,  to 
beguile  the  time,  the  one  found  means  to  speak  to  the  other. 


122  DAVID    ELGINBROB. 

' '  *  Wheat  are  you  going  to  be  ?  '  said  the  one. 

"  '  I  don  t  know,'  answered  the  other. 

"Tor  uie,'  rejoined  the  first,  'I  mean  to  be  a  rose. 
There  is  nothing  like  a  splendid  rose.  Everybody  will  love 
me  then  ! ' 

"  'It's  all  right,'  whis2')ered  the  second;  and  that  was  all  he 
could  say  ;  for  somehow  when  he  had  said  that,  he  felt  as  if  all 
the  words  in  the  world  were  used  up.  So  they  were  silent 
again  for  a  day  or  two. 

'"Oh,  dear!'  cried  the  first,  'I  have  had  some  water. 
I  never  knew  till  it  was  inside  me.  I'm  growing!  I'm  grow- 
ing !     Good-by  ! ' 

"  '  Good-by  !  '  repeated  the  other,  and  lay  still ;  and  waited 
more  than  ever. 

"  The  first  grew  and  grew,  pushing  itself  straight  up,  till  at 
last  it  felt  that  it  was  in  the  open  air,  for  it  could  breathe.  And 
what  a  delicious  breath  that  was  !  It  was  rather  cold,  but  so 
refreshing.  The  flower  could  see  nothing,  for  it  was  not  quite 
a  fiower  yet,  only  a  plant ;  and  they  never  see  till  their  eyes 
come,  that  is,  till  they  open  their  blossoms,  —  then  they  are 
flowers  quite.  So  it  grew  and  grew,  and  kept  its  head  up  very 
steadily,  meaning  to  see  the  sky  the  first  thing,  and  leave  the 
earth  quite  behind  as  well  as  beneath  it.  But  somehow  or 
other,  though  why  it  could  not  tell,  it  felt  very  much  inclined 
to  cry.  At  Icngtli  it  opened  its  eye.  It  was  morning,  and  the 
sky  loas  over  its  head  ;  but,  alas  !  itself  was  no  rose,  —  only 
a  tiny  white  flower.  It  felt  yet  more  inclined  to  hang  down 
its  head  and  to  cry ;  but  it  still  resisted,  and  tried  hard  to 
open  its  eye  wide,  and  to  hold  its  head  upright,  and  to  look  full 
at  the  sky. 

"  •  I  will  be  a  star  of  Bethlehem  at  least !  '  said  the  flower 
to  itself 

'•But  its  head  felt  very  heavy  :  and  a  cold  wind  rushed 
over  it,  and  bowed  it  down  towards  the  earth.  Aad  the  flower 
saw  that  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  was  not  come,  that 
the  snow  covered  the  whole  laud,  and  that  there  was  not  a  sin- 
gle flower  in  sight  but  itself  And  it  half-closed  its  leaves  in 
terror  and  the  dismay  of  loneliness.  But  that  instant  it  re- 
membered what  the  other  flower  used  to  say ;  and  it  said  to 
"*self,    'It's  all  right;  I  will   be  what  I  can.'     And  therooD 


DAVID    ELGIN.BROD.  Ilia 

it  yielded  to  the  wind,  drooped  its  head  to  the  earth,  and  looked 
no  more  on  the  sky,  but  on  the  snow.  And  straightway  tl'.e 
wind  stopped;  and  the  cold  died  away,  and  the  snow  S2:)arkled 
like  pearls  and  diamonds ;  and  the  flower  knew  that  it  was  the 
holding  of  its  head  up  that  had  hurt  it  so ;  for  that  its  body 
came  of  the  snow,  and  that  its  name  was  Snoiv-chojJ.  And 
so  it  said  once  more,  '  It's  all  right ! '  and  waited  in, perfect 
peace.  All  the  rest  it  needed  was  to  hang  its  head  after  its 
nature." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  other  ?  "'  asked  Harry. 

"  I  haven't  done  Avith  this  one  yet,"  answered  Hugh.  "I 
only  told  you  -it  was  waiting.  One  day  a  pale,  sad-looking 
girl,  with  thin  face,  large  eyes,  and  long  white  hands,  came, 
hanging  her  head  like  the  snow-drop,  along  the  snow  where  the 
flower  grew.  She  spied  it,  smiled  joyously,  and  saying,  '  Ah  ! 
my  little  sister,  are  you  come  ?  '  stooped  and  plucked  the  snow- 
drop. It  trembled  and  died  in  her  hand;  which  was  a  heav- 
enly death  for  a  snow-drop  ;  for  had  it  not  cast  a  gleam  of 
summer,  pale  as  it  had  been  itself,  upon  the  heart  of  a  sick 
girl?" 

"  And  the  other  ?  "  repeated  Harry. 

"  The  other 'had  a  long  time  to  wait;  but  it  did  grow  one 
of  the  loveliest  roses  overseen.  iVnd  at  last  it  had  the  hi<ihest 
honor  ever  granted  to  a  flower  :  two  lovers  smelled  it  together, 
and  Avere  content  with  it." 

Harry  was  silent,  and  so  was  Hugh  ;  for  he  could  not  under- 
stand himself  quite.  He  felt  all  the  time  he  was  speaking,  as 
if  he  were  listenins;  to  David,  instead  of  talking;  himself.  The 
fact  was,  he  was  only  expanding,  in  an  imaginative  soil,  the 
living  seed  which  David  had  cast  into  it.  There  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  more  in  his  parable  than  he  had  any  right  to  in- 
vent. But  is  it  not  so  with  all  stories  that  are  rightly  rooted 
in  the  human? 

"What  a  delightful  story,  Mr.  Sutherland!  "  said  Harry, 
at  last.  "  Euphra  tells  me  stories  sometimes;  but  I  don  t 
think  I  ever  heard  one  I  liked  so  much.  I  wish  we  were 
meant  to  grow  into  something,  like  the  flower-seeds." 

"  So  we  are,  Harry." 

"  Ai'e  we  indeed  ?     How  delightful  it  would  be  to  think  that 


124  DAVID    ELGINBROD, 

I  am  only  a  seed,  Mr.  Sutherland  !  Do  you  think  I  might 
think  so?  " 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Then,  please,  let  rae  begin  to  learn  something  directly.  I 
haven't  had  anything  disagreeable  to  do  since  you  came  ;  and 
I  don't  feel  as  if  that  was  right." 

Poor  Harry,  like  so  many  thousands  of  good  people,  had 
not  yet  learned  that  God  is  not  a  hard  taskmaster. 

"  I  don"t  intend  that  you  should  have  anything  disvagreeable 
to  do,  if  I  can  help  it.  Y\'e  must  do  such  things  when  they 
come  to  us ;  but  we  must  not  make  them  for  ourselves,  or  for 
each  other." 

"Then  I'm  not  to  learn  any  more  Latin,  am  I?"  said 
Harry,  in  a  doubtful  kind  of  tone,  as  if  there  tvere  after  all  a 
Uttle  pleasure  in  doing  what  he  did  not  like. 

"  Is  Latin  so  disagreeable,  Harry?  " 

•'  Yes  ;  it  is  rule  after  rule,  that  has  nothing  in  it  I  care 
for.  How  can  anyhochj  care  for  Latin  ?  But  I  am  quite 
ready  to  begin,  if  I  am  only  a  seed  —  really,  you  know." 

"  Not  yet,  Harry.  Indeed,  we  shall  not  begin  again  —  I 
won't  let  you  —  till  you  ask  me  wiJh  your  whole  heart,  to  let 
you  learn  Latin." 

"I'm  afraid  that  will  be  a  long  time,  and  Euphra  will  not 
like  it." 

' '  I  will  talk  to  her  about  it.  But  perhaps  it  will  not  be  so 
long  as  you  think.  .  Now,  don't  mention  Latin  to  me  again, 
till  you  are  ready  to  ask  me  heartily  to  teach  you.  And  don't 
give  yourself  any  trouble  about  it  either.  You  never  can 
raake  yourself  like  anything." 

Harry  was  silent.  They  returned  to  the  house,  through  the 
pouring  rain ;  Harry,  as  usual,  mounted  on  his  big  brother. 

As  they  crossed  the  hall,  Mr.  Arnold  came  in.  He  looked 
surprised  and  annoyed.  Hugh  set  Harry  down,  who  ran  up- 
stairs to  get  dressed  for  dinner:  while  he  himself  half-stopped, 
and  turned  towards  Mr.  Arnold.  But  Mr.  Arnold  did  not 
speak,  and  so  Hugh  followed  Harry. 

Hugh  spent  all  that  evening,  after  Harr.y  had  gone  to  bed, 
in  correcting  his  impressions  of  some  of  the  chief  stories  of 
early  Roman  history  ;  of  which  stories  he  intended  commencing 
a  little  course  to  Harry  the  next  day. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  125 

Meantime  there  was  very  little  intercourse  between  Hugh 
and  Euplira,  whose  surname,  somehow  or  other,  Hugh  had 
never  inquired  after.  He  disliked  aslcing  questions  about 
people  to  an  uncommon  degree,  and  so  preferred  waiting  for  a 
natural  revelation.  Her  later  behavior  had  repelled  him,  im- 
pressing him  with  the  notion  that  she  v^as  proud,  and  that  she 
had  made  up  her  mind,  notwithstanding  her  apparent  frank- 
ness at  first,  to  keep  him  at  a  distance.  That  she  was  fitful, 
too,  and  incapable  of  shovving  much  tenderness  even  to  poor 
Harry,  he  had  already  concluded  in  his  private  judgment-hall. 
Nor  could  he  doubt  that,  whether  from  wrong  theories,  inca- 
pacity, or  culpable  indifference,  she  must  have  taken  very  bad 
measures  indeed  with  her  young  pupil. 

The  next  day  resembled  the  two  former ;  with  this  differ- 
ence, that  the  rain  fell  in  torrents.  Seated  in  their  strawy 
bower,  they  cared  for  no  rain.  They  were  safe  from  the 
whole  world,  and  all  the  tempers  of  nature. 

Then  Hugh  told  Harry  about  the  slow  beginnings  and  the 
mighty  birth  of  the  great  Roman  people.  He  told  him  tales 
of  their  battles  and  conquests ;  their  strifes  at  home,  and  their 
wars  abroad.  He  told  him  stories  of  their  grand  men,  great 
with  the  individuality  of  their  nation  and  their  own.  He 
told  him  their  characters,  their  peculiar  opinions  and  grounds 
of  action,  and  the  results  of  their  various  schemes  for  their 
various  ends.  He  told  him  about  their  love  to  their  country, 
about  their  poetry  and  their  religion  ;  their  courage  and  theii 
hardihood;  their  architecture,  their  clothes,  and  their  armor; 
their  customs  and  their  laws ;  but  all  in  such  language, 
or  mostly  in  such  language,  as  one  boy  might  use  in 
telling  another  of  the  same  age  ;  for  Hugh  possessed  the  gift 
of  a  general  simplicity  of  thought, — one  of  the  most  valuable  a 
man  can  have.  It  cost  him  a  good  deal  of  labor  (well-repaid 
in  itself,  not  to  speak  of  the  evident  delight  of  Harry)  to 
make  himself  perfectly  competent  for  this  ;  but  ho  had  a  good 
foundation  of  knowledge  to  work  upon. 

This  went  on  for  a  long  time  after  the  period  to  which  I  am 
now  more  immediately  confined.  Every  time  they  stopped  to 
rest  from  their  rambles  or  games,  —  as  often,  in  fact,  as  they 
sat  down  alone,  — Harry's  constant  request  was  :  — 


126  DAVID    ELGIjS'BROD. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Sutherland,  mightn't  we  have  something  more 
about  the  Romans?  " 

And  Mr.  Sutherland  gave  him  something  more.  But  all 
this  time  he  never  uttered  the  word  —  Latin. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

LARCH   AND    OTHER   HUNTING. 

For  there  is  neither  busko  nor  hay 

In  May,  that  it  n'ill  shrouded  bene, 

And  it  with  newe  leaves  wrene; 

These  woodes  else  rccoveren  grene, 

That  drio  in  -winter  ben  to  sene, 

And  the  erth  waxeth  proud  withall, 

For  swote  dcwcs  that  on  it  fall, 

And  the  poore  estate  forget, 

In  which  that  winter  liad  it  set: 

And  then  becomes  the  ground  so  proude, 

That  it  wol  have  a  newe  shroude, 

And  maketh  so  queint  his  rube  and  fairo, 

That  it  hath  hewcs  an  hundred  pairc. 

Of  grasse  and  floures,  of  Ind  and  Pers, 

And  many  hewcs  full  divers: 

That  is  the  robe  I  mean,  ywis. 

Through  which  the  ground  to  praison  is. 

Cuaucek's  translation  of  the  Romaunt  of  the  Rose. 

So  passed  the  three  days  of  rain.  After  breakfast  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  Hugh  went  to  find  Harrj,  according  to  cus- 
tom, in  the  library.     He  Avas  reading. 

"  What  are  you  reading,  Harry?  "  asked  he. 

"A  poem,"  said  Harry;  and,  rising  as  before,  he  brought 
the  book  to  Hugh.     It  Avas  Mrs.  Hemans'  Poems. 

"You  are  fond  of  poetry,  Harry." 

"  Yes,  very." 

"  Whose  poems  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hemans',  of  course.  Don't  you  think  she  is  the 
best,  sir?  " 

"  She  writes  very  beautiful  verses,  Harry.  Which  poem 
are  you  reading  now  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  one  of  my  favorites  —  '  The  Voice  of  Spring.'  " 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  127 

"  Who  taught  you  to  like  Mrs.  Hemans  ?  " 

'•  Eupbra,  of  course." 

*•  Will  you  read  the  poem  to  me  ?  " 

llarrj  began,  and  read  the  poem  through,  with  much  taste 
and  eviderrt  enjoyment,  —  an  enjoyment  which  seemed,  however, 
to  spring  more  from  the  music  of  the  thought  and  its  embodi- 
ment in  sound,  than  from  sympathy  with  the  forms  of  nature 
called  up  thereby.  This  was  shown  by  his  mode  of  reading, 
in  which  the  music  was  everything,  and  the  sense  little  or 
nothing.     When  he  came  to  the  line, 

"  And  the  larch  has  hung  all  his  tassels  forth," 

he  smiled  so  delightedly,  that  H^igh  said :  — 

"  Are  you  fond  of  the  larch,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very." 

"  Are  there  any  about  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     V/hat  is  it  like  ?  " 

"  Yoil  said  you  were  fond  of  it." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it  is  a  tree  with  beautiful  tassels,  you  know. 
I  think  I  should  like  to  see  one.     Isn't  it  a  beautiful  line?  " 

"  When  you  have  finished  the  poem,  we  will  go  and  see  if 
we  can  find  one  anywhere  in  the  woods.  We  must  know 
where  we  are  in  the  world,  Harry,  — what  is  all  round  about 
us,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Harry  ;    ''let  us  go  and  hunt  the  larch." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  Spring,  if  we  look  for  her  —  per- 
haps hear  her  voice  too." 

'•  That  would  be  delightful,"  answered  Harry,  smiling. 
And  away  they  went. 

I  may  just  mention  here  that  Mrs.  Hemans  was  allowed  to 
retire  gradually,  till  at  last  she  Vv^as  to  be  found  only  in  the 
more  inaccessible  recesses  of  the  library -shelves ;  Avhile  by 
that  time  Harry  might  be  heard,  not  all  over  the  house,  cer- 
tainly, but  as  far  off  as  outside  the  closed  door  of  the  library, 
reading  aloud  to  himself  one  or  other  of  Macaulay's  ballads, 
with  an  evident  enjoyment  of  the  go  in  it.  A  story  with  a 
drum  and  trumpet  accompaniment  was  quite  enough,  for  the 
presait,  to  satisfy  Harry;  and  Macaulay  could  give  him 
^ha't,  if  little  more. 


128  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

As  tbcy  -went  across  the  lawn  towards  the  shrubbery,  on 
their  way  to  look  for  hxrches  and  Spring,  Euphra  joined  them 
in  walking  dress.     It  was  a  lovely  morning. 

"I  have  taken  you  at  your  word,  you  see,  Mr.  Suther- 
land," said  she.      "  I  don't  want  to  lose  my  Harry  quite." 

"  You  dear,  kind  Euphra!"  said  Harry,  going  round  to 
her  side  and  taking  her  hand.  He  did  not  stay  long  with  her, 
however,  nor  did  Euphra  seem  particularly  to  want  him. 

"There  was  one  thing  I  ought  to  have  mentioned  to  j^ou 
the  other  night,  Mr.  Sutherland  ;  and  I  dare  say  I  should  have 
mentioned  it,  had  not  Mr.  Arnold  interrupted  our  tete-a-tete. 
I  feel  now  as  if  I  had  been  guilty  of  claiming  far  more  that  I 
have  a  right  to,  on  the  score  of  musical  insight.  I  have 
Scotch  blood  in  me,  and  was  indeed  born  in  Scotland,  though 
I  left  it  before  I  was  a  year  old.  My  mother,  Mr.  Arnold's 
sister,'  married  a  gentleman  who  was  half  Scotch ;  and  I  was 
born  while  they  were  on  a  visit  to  his  relatives,  the  Camerons 
of  Lochnie.  His  mother,  my  grandmother,  was  a  Bohemian 
lady,  a  countess  with  sixteen  quarterings, —  not  a  gypsy,  I  beg 
to  say." 

Hugh  thought  she  might  have  been,  to  judge  from  present 
appearances. 

But  how  was  he  to  account  for  this  torrent  of  genealogical 
information,  into  Avhich  the  ice  of  her  late  constraint  had  sud- 
,  denly  thawed  ?  It  was  odd  that  she  should  all  at  once  volun- 
teer so  much  about  herself.  Perhaps  she  had  made  up  one 
of  those  minds  which  need  making  up,  every  now  and  then, 
like  a  monthly  magazine;  and  now  was  prepared  to  publish  it. 
Hugh  responded  with  a  question  :  — 

"Do  I  know  your  name,  then,  at  last?  You  are  Miss 
Cameron?  " 

"  Euphrasia  Cameron:  at  your  service,  sir."  And  she 
dropped  a  gay  little  courtesy  to  Hugh,  looking  up  at  him  with 
a  flash  of  her  black  diamonds. 

"  Then  you  must  sing  to  me  to-night." 

"  With  all  the  pleasure  in  gypsy-land,"  replied  she,  with  a 
second  courtesy,  lower  than  the  first ;  taking  fur  granted,  no 
doubt,  his  silent  judgment  on  her  person  and  complexion. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  Avoods  in  a  different 
quarter  from  that  which  Hugh  had  gone  through  the  other 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  129 

day  with  Harry.  And  here,  in  very  de^d,  the  Spring  met 
them,  with  a  profusion  of  richness  to  which  Hugh  was  quite  a 
stranger.  The  ground  was  carpeted  with  primroses,  and  anem- 
ones, and  other  spring  flowers,  which  are  the  loveliest  of  all 
flowers.  They  were  drinking  the  sunlight,  which  fell  upon 
them  through  the  budded  boughs.  By  the  time  the  light 
should  be  hidden  from  them  by  the  leaves,  which  are  the 
clouds  of  the  lower  firmament  of  the  woods,  their  need  of  it 
would  be  gone  :  exquisites  in  living,  they  cared  only  for  the 
delicate  morning  of  the  year. 

"  Do  look  at  this  darling,  Mr.  Sutherland  !  "  exclaimed 
Euphrasia,  suddenly,  as  she  bent  at  the  root  of  a  great  beech, 
where  grew  a  large  bush  of  rough  leaves,  with  one  tiny  but 
perfectly  formed  primrose  peeping  out  between.  "Is  it  not  a 
little  pet  ?  —  all  eyes  —  all  one  eye  staring  out  of  its  cur- 
tained bed  to  see  what  ever  is  going  on  in  the  world.  You 
had  better  lie  down  again  ;  it  is  7iot  a  nice  place." 

She  spoke  to  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  kitten  or  a  baby.  _  And 
as  she  spoke  she  pulled  the  leaves  yet  closer  over  the  little 
starer,  so  as  to  hide  it  quite. 

As  they  went  on,  she  almost  obtrusively  avoided  stepping 
on  the  flowers,  saying  she  always  felt  cruel,  or  at  least  rude, 
when  she  did  so.  Yet  she  trailed  her  dress  over  them  in  quite 
a  careless  way,  not  lifting  it  at  all.  This  was  a  peculiarity  of 
hers,  which   Hugh  never  understood  till  he  understood  herself 

All  about  in  shady  places,  the  ferns  were  busy  untucking 
themselves  from  their  grave-clothes,  unrolling  their  mysteri- 
ous coils  of  life,  adding  continually  to  the  hidden  growth  as 
they  unfolded  the  visible.  In  this,  they  were  like  the  other 
reve-lations  of  God  the  Infinite.  All  the  wild,  lovely  things 
were  coming  up  for  their  month's  life  of  joy.  Orchis-harle- 
quins, cuckoo-plants,  wild  arums,  more  properly  lords-and- 
ladies,  were  coming,  and  coming  —  slowly ;  for  had  they  not 
a  long  way  to  come,  from  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death 
into  the  land  of  life?  At  last  the  wanderers  came  upon  a 
whole  company  of  bluebells, = —  not  wdiat  Hugh  would  have 
called  bluebells,  for  the  bluebells  of  Scotland  are  the  sin- 
gle-poised Jiarebells, —  but  wild  hyacinths,  growing  in  a  damp 
and  shady  spot,  in  wonderful  luxuriance.  They  were  quite 
three  feet  in  height,  with  long,  graceful,  drooping  heads; 
9 


130  DAVID    ELQINBROD. 

hanging  down  from  them,  all  along  one  side,  tlie  largest  and 
loveliest  of  bells,  —  one  lying  close  above  the  other,  on  the 
lower  part ;  •while  they  parted  thinner  and  thinner  as  they 
rose  towards  the  lonely  one  at  the  top.  Miss  Cameron  went 
into  ecstasies  over  these;  not  saying  much,  but  breaking  up 
what  she  did  say  with  many  prettily  passionate  pauses. 

She  had  a  very  happy  turn  for  seeing  external  resem- 
blances, either  humorous  or  pathetic  ;  for  she  had  much  of  one 
clement  that  goes,  to  the  making  of  a  poet,  namely,  surface 
impressibility. 

"  Look,  Harry ;  they  are  all  sad  at  having  to  go  down  there 
again  so  socn.     They  arc  looking  at  their  graves  so  ruefully." 

Harry  looked  sad  and  ratlior  sentimental  immediately. 
When  llugh  glanced  at  Miss  Cameron,  he  saw  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"You  have  nothing  like  this  in  your  country,  have  you, 
Mr.  Sutherland?"  said  she,  with  an  apparent  effort. 

"  No,  indeed,"  answered  Hugh. 

And  he  said  no  more.  For  a  vision  rose  before  him  of  the 
rugged  pine-wood  and  the  single  primrose  ;  and  of  the  thought- 
ful maiden,  with  unpolished  speech  and  rough  hands,  and  — 
but  this  he  did  not  see  —  a  soul  slowly  refining  itself  to  a 
crystalline  clearness.  And  he  thought  of  the  grand  old  gray- 
haired  David,  and  of  Janet  with  her  quaint  motherhood,  and 
of  all  the  blessed  bareness  of  the  ancient  time  —  in  sunlight 
and  in  snow  ;  and  he  felt  again  that  he  had  forgotten  and  for- 
saken his  friends. 

"  How  the  fairies  will  be  ringing  the  bells  in  these  airy 
steeples  in  the  moonlight !  "  said  Miss  Cameron  to  Hurry, 
who  was  surprised  and  delighted  with  it  all.  He  could  not 
help  wondering,  however,  after  he  went  to  bed  that  night,  that 
Euphra  had  never  before  taken  him  to  see  these  beautiful 
things,  and  had  never  before  said  anything  half  so  pretty  to 
him,  as  the  least  pretty  thing  she  had  said  about  the  flowers 
that  morning  when  they  were  out  with  Mr.  Sutherland.  Had 
Mr.  Sutherland  anything  to  do  -with  it  ?  Was  he  giving  Eu- 
phra a  lesson  in  flowers,  such  as  he  had  given  him  in  pigs  ? 

Miss  Cameron  presently  drew  Hugh  into  conversation  again, 
and  the  old  times  were  once  more  forgotten  for  a  season. 
They  are  worthy  of  distinguishing  note, —  that  trio  in  those 


DAVID    ELGINBROD,  131 

spring  woods :  the  boy  waking  up  to  feel  that  flowers  and  buds 
wars  lovelier  in  the  woods  than  in  verses ;  Euphra  finding 
everything  about  her  sentimentally  useful,  and  really  delight- 
ing in  the  prettinesses  they  suggested  to  her ;  and  Hugh  regard- 
ing the  whole  chiefly  as  a  material  and  means  for  reproducing 
in  verse  such  impressions  of  delight  as  he  had  received  and 
still  received  from  all  (but  the  highest)  poetry  about  nature. 
The  presence  of  Harry  and  his  necessities  was  certainly  a 
saving  influence  upon  Hugh  ;  but,  however  much  he  sought  to 
realize  Harry's  life,  he  himself,  at  this  period  of  his  history, 
enjoyed  everything  artistically  f;ir  more  than  humanly. 

Margaret  would  have  walked  through  all  this  infmt  sum- 
mer without  speaking  at  all,  but  with  a  deep  light  far  back  in 
her  quiet  eyes.  Perhaps  she  would  not  have  had  many 
thoughts  about  the  flowers.  Rather  she  would  have  thought 
the  very  flowers  themselves  ;  would  have  been  at  home  with 
them,  in  a  delighted  oneness  with  their  life  and  expression. 
Certainly  she  would  have  Avalked  through  them  with  reverence, 
and  would  not  have  petted  or  patronized  nature  by  saying 
pretty  things  about  her  children.  Their  life  would  have  en- 
tered into  her,  and  she  would  have  hardly  known  it  from  her 
own.  I  dare  say  Miss  Cameron  would  have  called  a  mountain 
a  darling  or  a  beauty.  But  there  are  other  ways  of  showing 
afiection  than  by  patting  and  petting ;  though  Margaret,  for 
her  part,  would  have  needed  no  art-expression,  because  she  had 
the  things  themselves.  It  is  not  always  those  who  utter  best 
who  feel  most ;  and  the  dumb  poets  are  sometimes  dumb  be- 
cause it  would  need  the  "  large  utterance  of  the  early  gods" 
to  carry  their  thoughts  through  the  gates  of  speech. 

But  the  fancy  and  shins /jmjjcithi/  of  Miss  Cameron  began 
already  to  tell  upon  Hugh.  He  knew  very  little  of  women, 
and  had  never  heard  a  woijian  talk  as  she  talked.  He  did 
not  know  how  cheap  this  accomplishment  is,  and  took  it  for 
sensibility,  imaginativeness,  and  even  originality.  He  thought 
she  was  far  more  en  rapport  with  nature  than  he  was.  It  was 
much  easier  to  make  this  mistake  after  hearing  the  really  de- 
lightful way  in  which  she  sang.  Certainly  she  could  not  have 
sung  so,  perhaps  not  even  have  talked  so,  except  she  had  been 
capable  of  more ;  but,  to  be  capable  of  more,  and  to  be  -^^^lo  for 
more,  are  two  very  distinct'conditions. 


132  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Many  walks  followed  this,  extending  themselves  farther  and 
farther  from  home,  as  Harry's  strength  gradually  improved. 
It  was  quite  remarkable  how  his  interest  in  everything  external 
increased,  in  exact  proportion  as  ho  learned  to  sec  into  the  in- 
side or  life  of  it.  With  most  children,  the  interest  in  the  external 
comes  first,  and  with  many  ceases  there.  But  it  is  in  reality 
only  a  shallower  form  of  the  deeper  sympathy ;  and  in  those 
cases  where  it  does  lead  to  a  desire  after  the  hidden  nature  of 
things,  it  is  perhaps  the  better  beginning  of  the  two.  In  such 
exceptional  cases  as  Harry's,  it  is  of  unspeakable  importance 
that  both  the  difference  and  the  identity  should  be  recognized; 
and  in  doing  so,  Hugh  became  to  Harry  his  big  brother  indeed, 
for  he  led  him  where  he  could  not  go  alone. 

As  often  as  Mr.  Arnold  was  from  home,  which  happened  not 
unfrequently,  Miss  Cameron  accompanied  them  in  their  ram- 
bles. She  gave  as  her  reason  for  doing  so  only  on  such  occa- 
sions, that  she  never  liked  to  be  out  of  the  way  when  her  uncle 
might  want  her.  Traces  of  an  inclination  to  quarrel  with  Hugh, 
or  even  to  stand  upon  her  dignity,  had  all  but  vanished  ;  and 
as  her  vivacity  never  failed  her,  as  her  intellect  was  always 
active,  and  as  by  the  exercise  of  her  will  she  could  enter  sym- 
pathetically, or  appear  to  enter,  into  everything,  her  presence 
was  not  in  the  least  a  restraint  upon  them. 

On  one  occasion,  when  Harry  had  actually  run  a  little  way 
after  a  butterfly,  Hugh  said  to  her  :  - — 

"  What  did  you  mean,  Miss  Cameron,  by  saying  you  were 
only  a  poor  relation?  You  are  certainly  mistress  of  the 
house." 

"  On  sulFerance,  yes.  But  I  am  only  a  poor  relation.  T 
have  no  fortune  of  my  own." 

"  But  Mr.  Arnold  does  not  ti'eat  you  as  such." 

"  Oh  !  no.  He  likes  me.  He  is  very  kind  to  me.  Hegavo 
me  this  ring  on  my  last  birthday.     Is  it  not  a  beauty?  " 

She  pulled  ojff  her  glove,  and  showed  a  very  fine  diamond  or^ 
a  finger  worthy  of  the  ornament. 

"  It  is  more  like  a  gentleman's,  is  it  not?"  she  added, 
drawing  it  off  "  Let  me  see  how  it  would  look  on  your 
hand.'" 

She  gave  the  ring  to  Hugh ;  who,  laughing,  got  it  with  some 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  133 

difficulty  just  over  the  first  joint  of  his  little  finder,    and  held 
it  up  for  Euphra  to  see. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  I  cannot  ask  you  to  wear  it  for  me,"  said  she. 
''  I  don't  like  it  myself.  1  am  afraid,  however,"  she  added, 
with  an  arch  look,  "  my  uncle  would  not  like  it  either  —  on 
your  finger.     Put  it  on  mine  again." 

Holding  her  hand  towards  Hugh,  she  continued  :  — 

"  It  must  not  be  promoted  just  yet.  Besides,  I  see  you 
have  a  still  better  one  of  your  own." 

As  Hugh  did  according  to  her  request,  the  words  sprang  to 
his  lips,  "  There  are  other  ways  of  wearing  a  ring  than  on  the 
finger."  But  they  did  not  cross  the  threshold  of  speech.  Was 
it  the  repression  of  them  that  caused  that  strange  flutter  and 
slight  pain  at  the  heart,  which  he  could  not  quite  under 
stand  ? 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

FATIMA. 

Those  lips  that  Love's  own  hand  did  make 

Breathed  forth  the  sound  that  said,  "  I  hate," 

To  me  that  languished  for  her  sake: 

But  when  she  saw  my  woful  state, 

Straight  in  her  heart  did  mercy  come, 

Chiding  that  tongue  that,  ever  sweet, 

Was  used  in  giving  gentle  doom, 

And  taught  it  thus  anew  to  greet: 

"  I  hate  "  she  altered  with  an  end, 

That  followed  it  as  gentle  day 

Doth  follow  night,  who,  like  a  fiend, 

From  heaven  to  hell  is  flown  away. 

"  I  hate  "  from  hate  away  she  throw, 

And  saved  my  life,  saying  —  "  Not  you." 

Shakespeare. 

Mr.  Arnold  was  busy  at  home  for  a  few  days  after  this, 
and  Hugh  and  Harry  had  to  go  out  alone.  One  day,  when 
the  wind  was  rather  cold,  they  took  refuge  in  the  barn ;  for  it 
was  part  of  Hugh's  especial  care  that  Harry  should  be  ren- 
dered hardy,  by  never  being  exposed  to  more  than  he  could 
bear  without  a  sense  of  sufiering.     As  soon  as  the  boy  Began 


134  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

to  feel  fatigue,  or  cold,  or  any  other  discomfort,  his  tutor  took 
measures  accordingly. 

Ilarrj  would  have  crept  into  the  straw-house  ;  but  Hugh 
said,  pulling  a  book  out  of  his  pocket :  — 

"  I  have  a  poem  here  for  you,  Harry.  I  want  to  read  it  to 
you  now  ;  and  we  cant  see  in  there." 

They  threw  themselves  down  on  the  straw,  and  Hugh,  open- 
ing a  volume  of- Robert  Browning's  poems,  read  the  famous 
ride  from  Ghent  to  Aix.  He  knew  the  poem  well,  and  read  it 
well.      Harry  was  in  raptures. 

"I  wish  I  could  read  that  as  you  do,"   said  he. 

"Try,"  said  Hugh. 

Harry  tried  the  first  verse,  and  threw  the  book  down  in 
disgust  with  himself 

"Why  cannot  I  read  it?  "  said  he. 

"  Because  you  can't  ride." 

"  I  could  ride,  if  I  had  such  a  horse  as  that  to  ride  upon." 

"  But  you  could  never  have  such  a  horse  as  that  except  you 
could  ride,  and  ride  well,  first.  After  that,  there  is  no  saying 
but  you  might  get  one.  You  might,  in  fact,  train  one  for 
yourself  till  from  being  a  little  foal  it  became  your  own 
wonderful  horse." 

"  Oh !  that  would  be  delightful !  Will  you  teach  me 
horses  as  well,  Mr.  Sutherland?  " 

"Perhaps  I  will." 

That  evening,  at  dinner,  Hugh  said  to  Mr.  Arnold  :  — 

' '  Could  you  let  me  have  a  horse  to-morrow  morning,  Mr. 
Arnold?" 

Mr.  Arnold  stared  a  little,  as  he  always  did  at  anything 
new.     But  Hugh  went  on  :  — 

' '  Harry  and  I  want  to  have  a  ride  to-morrow ;  and  I  ex- 
pect we  shall  like  it  so  much,  that  we  shall  want  to  ride  vei'y 
often." 

"  Yes,  that  we  shall !  "   cried  Harry. 

"  Could  not  Mr.  Sutherland  have  your  white  mare,  Eu- 
phra?  "  said  Mr.  Arnold,  reconciled  at  once  to  the  proposal. 

"  I  wovild  rather  not,  if  you  don't  mind,  uncle.     My  Fatty 
is  not  used  to  such  a  burden  as  I  fear  Mr.  Sutherland  would 
prove.      She  drops  a  little  now,  on  the  hard  road." 
Tft^  fact  was.  Euphra  would  want  Fatima. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  135 

'•Well,  Harry,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  graciously  pleased  to  be 
facetious,  "don't  you  think  your  Welch  dray-horse  could 
carry  Mr.  Sutherland?" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  Papa,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Sutherland  set 
him  up  on  his  hind  legs  yesterday,  and  made  him  Avalk  on 
them  like  a  dancing-dog.  He  was  going  to  lift  him,  but  he 
kicked  about  so  when  he  felt  himself  leaving  the  ground,  that 
he  tumbled  Mr.  Sutherland  into  the  horse-trough." 

Even  the  solemn  face  of  the  butler  relaxed  into  a  smile,  but 
Mr.  Arnold's  clouded  instead.  His  boy's  tutor  ought  to  be  a 
gentleman. 

"Wasn't  it  fun,  Mr.  Sutherland?  " 

■'  It  Avas  to  you,  you  little  rogue !  "  said  Sutherland, 
lau2:hino;. 

' '  And  how  you  did  run  home,  dripping  like  a  water-cart ! 
—  and  all  the  dogs  after  you  !  " 

Mr.  Arnold's  monotonous  solemnity  soon  checked  Harry's, 
prattle. 

"  I  Avill  see,  Mr.  Sutherland,  what  I  can  do  to  mount  you." 

"I  don't  care  what  it  is,"  said  Hugh  ;  who,  though  by  no 
means  a  thorough  horseman,  had  been  from  boyhood  in  the 
habit  of  mounting  everthing  in  the  shape  of  a  horse  that  he 
could  lay  hands  upon,  from  a  cart-horse  upwards  and  down- 
wards. "There's  an  old  bav  that  would  carry  me  very 
weU." 

"That  is  my  own  horse,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

Q^his  stopped  the  conversation  in  that  direction.  But  next 
morning  after  breakfast,  an  excellent  chestnut  horse  was  wait- 
ing at  the  door,  along  with  Harrys  new  pony.  Mr.  Arnold 
would  see  them  go  off.  This  did  not  exactly  suit  Miss  Cameron ; 
but  if  she  frowned,  it  was  when  nobody  saw  her.  Hugh  put 
Harry  up  himself,  told  him  to  stick  fast  with  his  knees,  and 
then  mounted  his  chestnut.  As  they  trotted  slowly  down  the 
avenue,  Euphrasia  heard  Mr.  Arnold  say  to  himself,  "  The 
feilow  sits  well,  at  all  events."  She  took  care  to  make  her- 
self agreeable  to  Hugh  by  reporting  this,  with  the  omission  of 
the  initiatory  epithet  however. 

Harry  returned  from  his  ride  rather  tired,  but  in  high 
spirits. 

"0   Euphra !  "    he    cried,     "Mr.    Sutherland  is  such  a 


186  .        DAV^D    ELGINBROD. 

ridei' !  He  jumps  hedges  and  ditches  and  everything.  And 
he  has  promised  to  teach  me  and  my  pony  to  jump  too.  And 
if  I  am  not  too  tired,  wo  are  to  begin  to-morrow,  out  on  the 
common.      Oh!  jolly!'' 

The  little  fellow's  heart  was  full  of  the  sense  of  growing 
life  and  strength,  and  Hugh  Avas  delighted  with  his  own  suc- 
cess. He  caught  sight  of  a  serpentine  motion  in  Euphra's 
eyebrows,  as  ehe  bent  her  face  again  over  the  Avork  from  which 
she  had  lifted  it  on  their  entrance.     He  addressed  her. 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  Harry  has  ridden  like  a 
man." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Harry." 

Why  did  she  reply  to  the  subject  of  the  remark,  and  not  to 
the  speaker?  Hugh  perplexed  himself  in  vain  to  answer  this 
question  ;  but  a  very  small  amount  of  experience  would  have 
made  him  able  to  understand  at  once  as  much  of  her  behavior 
as  "was  genuine.  At  luncheon  she  spoke  only  in  reply  ;  and 
then  so  briefly,  as  not  to  afford  the  smallest  peg  on  which  to 
hang  a  response. 

"What  can  be  the  matter?"  thought  Hugh.  "What  a 
peculiar  creature  she  is  !  But  after  what  has  passed  between 
us,  I  can't  stand  this." 

When  dinner  was  over  that  evening,  she  rose  as  usual  and 
left  the  room,  followed  by  Hugh  and  Harry ;  but  as  soon  as" 
they  were  in  the  drawing-room  she  left  it ;  and,  returning  to 
the  dining-room,  resumed  her  seat  at  the  table. 

"Take  a  glass  of  claret,  Euphra,  dear?"  said  Mr,  Ar- 
nold. 

"  I  will,  if  you  please,  uncle.  I  should  like  it.  I  have 
seldom  a  minute  with  you  alone  now." 

Evidently  flattered,  Mr.  Arnold  poured  out  a  glass  of 
claret,  rose  and  carried  it  to  his  niece  himself,  and  then  took  a 
chair  beside  her. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  uncle,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  be- 
witching flashes  of  smile. 

"  Harry  has  been  getting  on  bravely  with  his  riding,  has 
he  not?  "  she  continued. 

"So  it  would  appear." 

Harry  had  been  full  of  the  story  of  the  day  at  the  dinner- 
table,  where  he  still  continued  to  present  himself;  for  his  fa 


DAVID    ELGINBKOD.  VM 

tlier  ■would  not  be  satisfied  without  liim.  It  was  certaiid_y 
good  moral  training  for  the  boy,  to  sit  there  almost  without 
eating ;  and  none  the  worse  that  he  found  it  rather  hard  some- 
times. He  talked  much  more  freely  now,  and  asked  the  ser- 
vants for  anything  he  wanted  witliout  referring  to  Euplira. 
Now  and  then  he  would  glance  at  her,  as  if  afraid  of  ofiending 
her ;  but  the  cords  which  bomnd  him  to  her  were  evidently 
relaxing;  and  she  saw  it  plainly  enough,  though  she  made  no 
reference  to  the  unpleasing  fact. 

"I  am  only  a  little  fearful,  uncle,  lest  Mr.  Sutherland 
should  urge  the  bov  to  do  more  tlian  his  strength  will  admit 
of  He  is  exceedingly  kind  to  him,  but  he  has  evidently 
never  known  what  weakness  is  himself" 

"  True,  there  is  danger  of  that.  But  you  see  he  has  taken 
him  so  entirely  into  his  own  hands.  I  don't  seem  to  be  allov/ed 
a  word  in  the  matter  of  his  education  anymore."  Mr.  Arnold 
spoke  with  the  peevishness  of  weak  importance.  "I  wish  you 
would  take  care  that  he  does  not  carry  things  too  far,  Euphra.'' ' 

This  was  just  what  Euphra  wanted. 

"  I  think,  if  you  do  not  disaprove,  uncle,  I  will  have  Fatima 
saddled  to-morrow  morning,  and  go  with  them  myself"' 

"  Thank  you,  my  love  ;  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you." 

The  glass  of  claret  was  soon  finished  after  this.  A  little 
more  conversation  about  nothing  followed,  and  Euphra  rose 
the  second  time,  and  returned  to  the  dravving-room.  She  found 
it  unoccupied.  She  sat  doAvn  to  the  piano,  and  sang  song  after 
song.  — Scotch.  Italian,  and  Bohemian.  But  Hugh  did  not  make 
his  appearance.  The  fact  was,  he  was  busy  writing  to  his 
mother,  whom  he  had  rather  neglected  since  became.  Writino;  to 
her  made  him  think  of  David,  and  he  began  a  letter  to  him  too ; 
but  it  was  never  finished,  and  never  sent.  He  did  not  return 
to  the  drawing-room  that  evening.  Indeed,  except  for  a  short 
time,  while  Mr.  Arnold  was  drinking  his  claret,  he  seldom 
showed  himself  there.  Had  Euphra  repelled  him  too  much  — 
hurt  him  ?     She  would  make  up  for  it  to-morrow. 

Breakfast  was  scarcely  over,  when  the  chestnut  and  the 
pony  passed  the  window,  accompanied  by  a  lovely  little  Arab 
mare,  broad-chested  and  liglit-linibed,  with  a  wonderfully  small 
head.  She  Avas  white  as  snow,  with  keen,  dark  eyes.  Her 
curb-rein  was  red  instead  of  white.     Hearing  their  approach. 


138  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

and  begging  her  uncle  to  excuse  her,  Euphra  rose  from  the 
table,  and  left  the  room  ;  but  reappeared  in  a  wonderfullj 
little  while,  in  a  Avell-fitted  riding-habit  of  black  velvet,  with  a 
belt  of  dark  red  leather,  clasping  a  waist  of  the  roundest  and 
smallest.  Her  little  hat,  likewise  black,  had  a  single  long, 
white  feather,  laid  horizontally  within  the  upturned  brim,  and 
drooping  over  it  at  the  back.  Her  white  mare  would  be  just 
the  right  pedestal  for  the  dusky  figure, — black  eyes,  tawny 
skin,  and  all.  As  she  stood  ready  to  mount,  and  Hugh  Avas 
approaching  to  put  her  up,  she  called  the  groom,  seemed  just 
to  touch  his  hand,  and  was  in  the  saddle  in  a  moment,  foot  in 
stirrup,  and  skirt  falling  over  it.  Hugh  thought  she  was 
carrying  out  the  behavior  of  yesterday,  and  was  determined 
to  ask  her  what  it  meant.  The  little  Arab  began  to  rear  and 
plunge  with  pride,  as  soon  as  she  felt  her  mistress  on  her  back  ; 
but  she  seemed  as  much  at  home  as  if  she  had  been  on  the 
music-stool,  and  patted  her  arching  neck,  talking  to  her  in  the 
same  tone  almost  in  which  she  had  addressed  the  flowers. 

"Be  quiet,  Fatty,  dear;  you're  frightening  Mr.  Suther- 
land." 

But  Hugh,  seeing  the  next  moment  that  she  Avas  in  no 
danger,  sprang  into  his  saddle.  Away  they  went,  Fatima  in- 
fusing life  and  frolic  into  the  equine  as  Euphra  into  the 
human  portion  of  the  cavalcade.  Having  reached  the  common, 
out  of  sight  of  the  house.  Miss  Cameron,  instead  of  looking 
after  Harry,  lest  he  should  have  too  much  exercise,  scampered 
about  like  a  wild  girl,  jumping  everything  that  came  in  her 
way,  and  so  exciting  Harry's  pony,  that  it  was  almost  more 
than  he  could  do  to  manage  it,  till  at  last  Hugh  had  to  beg 
her  to  go  more  quietly,  for  Harry's  sake.  She  drew  up 
alongside  of  them  at  once ;  and  made  her  mare  stand  as  still  as 
she  could,  while  Harry  made  his  first  essay  upon  a  little  ditch. 
After  crossing  it  two  or  three  times,  he  gathered  courage  ;  and 
Betting  his  pony  at  a  larger  one  beyond,  bounded  across  it 
beautifully. 

"  Bravo  !  Harry  !  "  cried  both  Euphra  and  Hugh.  Harry 
galloped  back,  and  over  it  again ;  then  came  up  to  them  with  a 
glow  of  proud  confidence  on  his  pale  face. 

''  You'll  be  a  hoi-seman  yet,  Harry,"  said  Hugh. 

"  I  hojDe  so,"  said  Harry,  in  an  aspiring  tone,  which  greatly 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  139 

satisfied  his  tutor.  The  boj's  spirit  was  evidently  reviving. 
Euphra  must  have  managed  him  ilL  Yet  she  xvas  not  in  the 
least  effeminate  herself.  It  puzzled  Hugh  a  good  deal.  But 
he  did  not  think  about  it  long ;  for  Ilarr j  cantering  away  in 
front,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  saying  to  Euphra  :  — 

"  Are  you  offended  with  me,  Miss  Cameron?" 

"  Offended  with  you!  What  do  you  mean?  A  girl  like 
me  offended  with  a  man  like  you  ?  " 

She  looked  two  and  twenty  as  she  spoke ;  but  even  at  that 
she  was  older  than  Hugh.  He,  however,  certainly  looked 
considerably  older  than  he  really  was. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  she  added,  turning  her  face 
towards  him. 

' '  You  would  not  speak  to  me  when  we  came  home  yester- 
day." 

"Not  speak  to  you?^I  had  a  little  headache;  and 
perhaps  I  was  a  little  sullen,  from  having  been  in  such  bad 
company  all  the  morning." 

"What  company  had  you?  "  asked  Hugh,  gazing  at  her  in 
some  surprise. 

"My  own,"  answered  she,  Avith  a  lovely  laugh,  thrown  full 
in  his  face.  Then  after  a  pause,  "  Let  me  advise  you,  if  you 
want  to  live  in  peace,  not  to  embark  on  that  ocean  of  dis- 
covery." 

"What  ocean?  what  discovery?"  asked  Hugh,  bewildered, 
and  still  gazing; 

"The  troubled  ocean  of  ladies'  looks,"  she  replied.  "You 
will  never  be  able  to  live  in  the  same  house  Avitli  one  of  our 
kind,  if  it  be  necessary  to  your  peace  to  find  out  what  every 
expression  that  puzzles  you  may  mean." 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  be  inquisitive ;  it  really  troubled  me." 

"  There  it  is.  You  must  never  mind  us.  We  show  so 
much  sooner  than  men  ;  but,  take  warning,  there  is  no  making 
out  what  it  is  we  do  show.  Your  faces  are  legible ;  ours  are 
so  scratched  and  interlined,  that  you  had  best  give  up  at  once 
the  idea  of  deciphering  them." 

Hugh  could  not  help  looking  once  more  at  the  smooth, 
simple,  naive  countenance  shining  upon  him. 

"  There  you  are  at  it  again,"  she  said,  blushing  a  little,  and 
turning  her  head  away.      "  \V'ell,  to  comfort  you,  1  will  confess 


140  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

I  was  rather  cross  yesterday  —  because  —  because  you  seemed 
to  have  been  quite  liappy  with  only  one  of  your  pupils." 

As  she  s])oko  the  words,  she  gave  Eatima  the  rein,  and 
bounded  off,  overtaking  Harry's  pony  in  a  moment.  Nor  did 
she  leave  her  cousin  during  all  the  rest  of  their  ride. 

Most  women  in  whom  the  soul  has  anything  like  a  chance 
of  reaching  the  windows  are  more  or  less  beautiful  in  their 
best  moments.  Euphra's  best  was  when  she  was  trying  to 
faeo.inatc.  Then  she  was  —  fascinating.  During  the  first 
morning  that  Hugh  spent  at  Arnstead,  she  had  probably  been 
making  up  her  mind  whether,  between  her  and  Hugh,  it  was 
to  be  war  to  the  knife,  or  fascination.  .  The  latter  had  carried 
the  day,  and  was  now  carrying  him.  But  had  she  calculated 
that  fascination  may  react  as  Avell  ? 

Hugh's  heart  bounded,  like  her  Arab  steed,  as  she  uttered 
the  words  last  recorded.  He  gave  his  chestnut  the  rein  in  his 
turn,  to  overtake  her  ;  but  Fatimas  canter  quickened  into  a 
gallop,  and,  inspirited  by  her  companionsliip,  and  the  fact  that 
their  heads  were  turned  stablewards,  Harry's  pony,  one  of  the 
quickest  of  its  race,  laid  itself  to  the  ground,  and  kept  up, 
taking  three  strides  for  Fatty's  tAvo,  so  that  Hugh  never  got 
within  three  lengths  of  them  till  they  drew  rein  at  the  hall 
door,  w^here  the  grooms  were  waiting  them.  Euphra  was  off 
her  mare  in  a  moment,  and  had  almost  reached  her  own  room 
before  Hugh  and  Harry  had  crossed  the  hall.  She  came  down 
to  luncheon  in  a  white  muslin  dress,  with  th^  smallest  possible 
red  spot  in  it ;  and,  taking  her  place  at  the  table,  seemed  to 
Hugh  to  have  put  off  not  only  her  riding-habit,  but  the  self 
that  was  in  it  as  well ;  for  she  chatted  away  in  the  most  uncon- 
cerned and  easy  manner  possible,  as  if  she  had  not  been  out  of 
her  room  all  the  morning,  k^he  had  ridden  so  hard,  that  she 
had  left  her  last  speech  in  the  middle  of  the  common,  and  its 
mood  with  it ;  and  there  seemed  now  no  likelihood  of  either 
finding  its  way  home. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  141 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE    PICTURE-GALLERY. 

the  house  is  crencled  to  and  fro, 
And  hath  so  quoint  waies  for  to  go, 
For  it  is  shapen  as  the  mase  is  wrought. 

Chaucer. —  Lt^end  of  Ariadne- 

Luncheon  over,  and  Hany  dismissed  as  usual  to  lie  down. 
Miss  Cameron  said  to  Hugh  :  — 

"You  have  never  been  over  the  old  house  yet,  I  believe, 
Mr.  Sutherland.     Would  you  not  like  to  see  it?  " 

"I  should  indeed,"  said  Hu'2;h.  "It  is  what  I  have  lonfj 
hoped  for,  and  have  often  been  on  the  point  of  begging." 

' '  Come  then ;  I  will  be  your  guide,  —  if  you  will  trust 
yourself  with  a  madcap  like  me,  in  the  solitudes  of  the  old 
hive." 

"  Lead  on  to  the  family  vaults,  if  you  will,"  said  Hugh. 

"That  might  be  possible,  too,  from  below.  We  are  not  so 
very  far  from  them.  Even  within  the  house  there  is  an  old 
chapel,  and  some  monuments  worth  looking  at.  Shall  w^e  take 
it  last?" 

"  As  you  think  best,"  answered  Hugh. 

She  rose  and  rang  the  bell.     AVhen  it  was  answered, 

"Jacob,"  she  said,  "get  nte  the  keys  of  the  house  from 
Mrs.  Horton." 

Jacob  vanished,  and  reappeared  with  a  huge  bunch  of  keys 
She  took  them. 

"  Thank  you.  They  should  not  be  allowed  to  get  quite 
rusty,  Jacob." 

' '  Please,  miss,  Mrs.  Horton  desired  me  to  say  she  would 
have  seen  to  them,  if  she  had  known  you  wanted  them." 

"  Oh  !  never  mind.  Just  tell  my  maid  to  bring  me  an  old 
pair  of  gloves." 

Jacob  went;  and  the  maid  came  with  the  required  arm.oi". 

"Now,  Mr.  Sutherland.  Jane,  you  will  come  with  us. 
No,  you  need  not  take  the  keys.  I  will  find  those  I  want  as 
we  go." 

She  unlocked  a  door  in  the  corner  of  the  hall,  which  Hugl) 


142  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

had  never  seen  open.  Passing  through  a  long  low  passage, 
they  came  to  a  spiral  staircase  of  stone,  up  which  they  went, 
arriving  at  another  wide  hall,  very  dusty,  but  in  perfect  repair. 
Hugh  asked  if  there  Avas  not  some  communication  between  tliiii 
hall  and  the  great  oak  staircase. 

"Yes,"  answered  Euphra ;  "but  this  is  the  more  direct 
way." 

As  she  said  this,  he  felt  somehow  as  if  she  cast  on  him  one 
of  her  keenest  glances ;  but  the  place  was  very  dusky,  and  ho 
stood  in  a  spot  where  the  light  fell  upon  him  from  an  opening 
in  a  shutter,  while  she  stood  in  deep  shadow. 

"  Jane,  open  that  shutter." 

The  girl  obeyed;  and  the  entering  light  revealed  the  walls 
covered  with  paintings,  many  of  them  apparently  of  no  value, 
yet  adding  much  to  the  effect  of  the  place.  Seeing  that  Hugh 
was  at  once  attracted  by  the  pictures,  Euphra  said  :  — 

"  Perhaps  you  Avould  like  to  see  the  picture-gallery  first?  " 

Hugh  assented.  Euphra  chose  key  after  key,  and  opened 
door  after  door,  till  they  came  into  a  long  gallery  Avell  lighted 
from  each  end.     The  windows  were  soon  opened. 

"  Mr.  Arnold  is  very  proud  of  his  pictures,  especially  of  his 
family  portraits ;  but  he  is  content  with  knowing  he  has  them, 
and  never  visits  them  except  to  show  them ;  or  perhaps  once  or 
twice  a  year,  when  something  or  other  keeps  him  at  home  for 
a  day,  without  anything  particular  to  do." 

In  glancing  over  the  portraits,  some  of  them  by  famous 
masters,  Hugh's  eyes  were  arrested  by  a  blonde  beauty  in  the 
dress  of  the  time  of  Charles  II.  There  was  such  a  reality  of 
self-willed  boldness  as  well  as  something  worse  in  her  face 
that,  though  arrested  by  the  picture,  Hugh  felt  ashamed  of 
looking  at  it  in  the  presence  of  Euphra  and  her  maid.  The 
pictured  woman  almost  put  him  out  of  countenance,  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  fascinated  him.  Dragging  his  eyes  from  it,  he 
saw  that  Jane  had  turned  her  back  upon  it,  while  Euphra  re- 
garded it  steadily. 

"  Open  that  opposite  window,  Jane,"  said  she.  "There  is 
not  light  enough  on  this  portrait." 

Jane  obeyed.  While  she  did  so,  Hugh  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  fixce,  and  saw  that  the  formerly  rosy  girl  was  deadly  pale. 
He  said  to  Euphra  :  — 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  '  143 

"Your  maid  seems  ill,  Miss  Cameron." 

"Jane,  Avliat  is  the  matter  with  you?  " 

She  did  not  reply,  but,  leaning  against  the  Tvall,  seemed 
I'eady  to  faint. 

"  The  place  is  close,"  said  her  mistress.  "  Go  into  the 
next  room  there,"  — she  pointed  to  a  door  —  "and  open  the 
window.     You  will  soon  be  well." 

"  If  you  please,  miss,  I  would  rather  stay  with  you.  This 
place  makes  me  feel  that  strange." 

She  had  come  but  lately,  and  had  never  been  over  the  house 
before. 

"Nonsense!  "  said  Miss  Cameron,  looking  at  her  sharply. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Please,  don't  be  angry,  miss;  but  the  first  night  e'er  I 
slept  here,  I  saw  that  very  lady  —  " 

"Saw  that  lady!  " 

"  Well,  miss,  I  mean,  I  dreamed  that  I  saw  her;  and  1  re- 
membered her  the  minute  I  see  her  up  there ;  and  she  give  me 
a  turn  like.     I'm  all  right  now,  miss." 

Euphra  fixed  her  eyes  on  her,  and  kept  them  fixed,  till  she 
was  very  nearly  all  wrong  again.  She  turned  as  pale  as  be- 
fore, and  began  to  draw  her  breath  hard. 

"  You  silly  goo.^e  !  "  said  Euphra,  and  withdrew  her  eyes; 
upon  which  the  girl  began  to  breathe  more  freely. 

Hugh  was  making  some  wise  remarks  in  his  own  mind  on 
the  unsteady  condition  of  a  nature  in  which  the  imagination 
predominates  over  the  powers  of  reflection,  wlien  Euphra  turned 
to  him,  and  began  to  tell  him  that  that  was  the  picture  of  her 
three  or  four  times  great-grandmother,  painted  by  Sir  Peter 
Lely,  just  after  she  was  married. 

"  Isn't  she  fair?  "  said  she.  "  She  turned  nun  at  last,  they 
say." 

"  She  is  more  fair  than  honest  "  thought  Hugh.  "  It  would 
take  a  great  deal  of  nun  to  make  her  into  a  saint."  But  he 
only  said,  "  She  is  more  beautiful  than  lovely.  What  was  her 
name?" 

"If  you  mean  her  maiden  name,  it  was  Ilalkar,  ■ — -Lady 
Euphrasia  Halkar,  —  named  after  me,  you  see.  She  had 
foreign  blood  in  her,  of  course ;  and,  to  tell  tlie  truth,  there 
were  strange  stories  told  of  her,  of  more  sorts  than  one.     1 


144  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

know  nothing  of  her  family.  It  was  never  heard  of  in  England, 
1  believe,  till  after  the  Restoration." 

All  the  time  Euphra  was  speaking,  Hugh  was  being  per- 
plexed with  that  most  annoying  of  perplexities,  —  the  flitting 
phantom  of  a  resemblance,  whichhe  could  not  catch.  He  was 
forced  to  dismiss  it  for  the  present,  utterly  baffled. 

'•  Were-you  really  named  after  her,  Miss  Cameron?  " 

"No,  no.  It  is  a  family  name  with  us.  But,  indeed,  I 
may  be 'said  to  be  named  after  her,  for  she  was  the  first  of  us 
who  bore  it.     You  don't  seem  to  like  the  p.ortrait." 

"I  do  not;   but  I  cannut  help  looking  at  it,  for  all  that." 

"  I  am  so  used  to  the  lady's  face,"  said  Euphra,  "that  it 
makes  no  impression  on  me  of  any  sort.  But  it  is  said,"  she 
added,  glancing  at  the  maid,  who  stood  at  some  distance,  look- 
ing uneasily  about  her,  —  and  as  she  spoke  she  lowered  her 
voice  to  a  whisper.  —  "  it  is  said,  she  cannot  lie  still." 

"  Cannot  lie  still  !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  down  therein  the  chapel,"  she  answered,  pointing. 

The  Celtic,  nerves  of  Hugh  shuddered.  Euphi'a  laughed, 
and  her  voice  echoed  in  silvery  billows,  that  broke  on  the  faces 
of  the  men  and  women  of  old  time,  that  had  owned  the 
whole  ;  whose  lives  had  flowed  and  ebbed  in  varied  tides 
throuorh  the  ancient  house  ;  who  had  married  and  been  ffiven 
in  marriage  ;  and  had  gone  down  to  the  chapel  below,  —  below 
the  prayers  and  belo"\v  the  psalms,  —  and  made  a  Sunday  of 
all  the  week. 

Ashamed  of  his  feeling  of  passing  dismay,  Hugh  said,  just  to 
say  something  :  — 

"  What  a  strange  ornament  that  is  !  Is  it  a  brooch  or  a 
pin  ?  iS^o,  I  declare ;  it  is  a  ring,  —  large  enough  for  three 
cardinals,  and  worn  on  her  thumb.  It  seems  almost  to  sparkle. 
Is  it  ruby,  or  carbuncle,  or  what  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know;  some  clumsy  old  thing,"  answered  Euphra, 
carelessly. 

"Oh!  I  see,"  said  Hugh;  "  it  is  not  a  red  stone.  The 
glow  is  only  a  reflection  from  part  of  her  dress.  It  is  as  clear 
as  a  diamond.  But  that  is  impossible  —  such  a  size.  There 
seems  to  me  something  curious  about  it ;  and  the  longer  I  look 
at  it,  the  more  strange  it  appears." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  145 

Euphra  stole  another  of  her  piercing  glances  at  him,  hut 
said  nothing. 

"  Surely,"  Hugh  went  on,  "a  ring  like  that  would  hardly 
be  likely  to  be  lost  out  of  the  family  ?  Your  uncle  must  have 
it  somewhere." 

Euphra  laughed  ;  but  this  laugh  was  very  different  from  the 
last.     It  rattled  rather  than  rang. 

"You  are  wonderfully  taken  with  a  bauble,  — for  a  man  of 
letters,  that  is,  Mr.  Sutherland.  The  stone  may  have  been 
carried  down  any  one  of  the  hundred  streams  into  which  a  family 
river  is  always  dividing." 

"  It  is  a  very  remarkable  ornament  for  a  lady's  finger,  not- 
withstanding," said  Hugh,  smiling  in  his  turn. 

"  But  we  shall  never  get  through  the  pictures  at  this  rate," 
remarked  Euphra  ;  and,  going  on,  she  directed  Hugh's  atten- 
tion now  to  this,  now  to  that  portrait,  saying  who  each  was, 
and  mentioning  anything  remarkable  in  the  history  of  their 
originals.  She  manifested  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the 
family  story,  and  made,  in  fact,  an  excellent  show-woman. 
Having  gone  nearly  to  the  other  end  of  the  gallery. 

"This  door,"  said  she,  stopping  at  one,  and  turning  over 
the  keys,  ' '  leads  to  one  of  the  oldest  portions  of  the  house, 
the  principal  room  in  which  is  said  to  have  belonged  especially 
to  the  lady  over  there." 

As  she  said  this,  she  fixecf  her  eyes  once  more  on  the  maid. 

"  Oh  !  don't  ye  now,  miss,"  interrupted  Jane.  "  Hannah 
du  say  as  how  a  whitey-blue  light  shines  in  the  window  of  a 
dark  night,  sometimes,  — that  lady's  window,  you  know,  miss. 
Don't  ye  open  the  door  —  pray,  miss." 

Jane  seemed  on  the  point  of  falling  into  the  same  terror  as 
before. 

"  Really,  Jane,"  said  her  mistress,  "  I  am  ashamed  of  you; 
and  of  myself,  for  having  such  silly  servants  about  me." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,  but  —  " 

"  So  Mr.  Sutherland  and  I  must  give  up  our  plan  of  going 
over  the  house,  because  my  maid's  nerves  are  too  delicate  to 
permit  her  to  accompany  us.     For  shame  !  " 

"  Oh,  du  ye  now  go  without  me  !  "  cried  the  girl,  clasping 
her  hands. 

"  And  you  will  wait  here  till  we  come  back  ?  " 

10 


146  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  Oh  f  don't  ye  leave  me  here.  Just  show  me  the  way 
out." 

And  once  more  she  turned  pale  as  death. 

"  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  am  very  sorry,  but  we  must  put  oflFthe 
rest  of  our  ramble  till  another  time.  I  am,  like  Hamlet,  very 
vilely  attended,  as  you  see.  Come,  then,  you  foolish  girl,"  she 
added,  more  mildly. 

The  poor  maid,  what  with  terror  of  Lady  Euphrasia,  and 
respect  for  her  mistress,  Avas  in  a  pitiable  condition  of  moral 
helplessness.  She  seemed  almost  too  frightened  to  walk  be- 
hind them.  But  if  she  had  been  in  front,  it  would  have  been 
no  better ;  for,  like  other  ghost-fearers,  she  seemed  to  feel  very 
painfully  that  she  had  no  -eyes  in  her  back. 

They  returned  as  they  came  ;  and  Jane,  receiving  the  keys 
to  take  to  the  house-keeper,  darted  away.  When  she  reached 
Mrs.  Horton's  room,  she  sank  on  a  chair  in  hysterics. 

"I  must  get  rid  of  that  girl,  I  fear,"  said  Miss  Cameron, 
leading  the  way  to  the  library;  "she  will  infect  the  whole 
household  with  her  foolish  terrors.  We  shall  not  hear  the  last 
of  this  for  some  time  to  come.  We  had  a  fit  of  it  the  same 
year  I  came ;  and  I  suppose  the  time  has  come  round  for 
another  attack  of  the  same  epidemic." 

"  What  is  there  about  the  room  to  terrify  the  poor  thing?  " 

"  Oh  !  they  say  it  is  haunted  ;  that  is  all.  Was  there  ever 
an  old  house  anywhere  over  EuroJ)e,  especially  an  old  family 
house,  but  what  was  said  to  be  haunted?  Here  the  stoi-y 
centres  in  that  room,  or  at  least  in  that  room  and  the  avenue 
in  front  of  its  windows." 

"  Is  that  the  avenue  called  the  Ghost's  Walk?  " 

"Yes.     Who  told  you?" 

"  Harry  would  not  let  me  cross  it." 

"  Poor  boy  !  This  is  really  too  bad.  He  cannot  stand 
anything  of  that  kind,  I  am  sure.     Those  servants  !  " 

"  Oh  !  I  hope  we  shall  soon  get  him  too  Avell  to  be  frightened 
at  anything.  Are  these  places  said  to  be  haunted  by  any  par- 
ticular ghost?  " 

"  Yes.      By  Lady  Euphrasia.     Rubbish  !  " 

Had  Hugh  possessed  a  yet  keener  perception  of  resemblance, 
he  would  have  seen  that  the  phantom-likeness  Avhich  haunted 
him  in  the  portrait  of  Euphrasia  Halkar,  was  that  of  Euphrasia 


DAVIL    ELGINBROD.  147 

Cameron  —  by  his  side  all  the  time.  But  the  mere  difference 
of  complexion  was  sufficient  to  throw  him  out,  — insignificant 
difference  as  that  is,  beside  the  correspondence  of  features  and 
their  relations.  Euphra  herself  was  perfectly  aware  of  the 
likeness,  but  had  no  wish  that  Hugh  should  discover  it. 

As  if  the  likeness,  however,  had  been  dimly  identified  by 
the  unconscious  part  of  his  being,  he  sat  in  one  corner  of  the 
library  sofa,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  face  of  Euphra,  as  she 
sat  in  the  other.  Presently  he  was  made  aware  of  his  unin- 
tentional rudeness,  by  seeing  her  turn  pale  as  death,  and  sink 
back  in  the  sofa.  In  a  moment  she  started  up,  and  began 
pacing  about  the  room,  rubbing  her  eyes  and  temples.  He 
was  bewildered  and  alarmed. 

"  Miss  Cameron,  are  you  ill  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  gave  a  kind  of  half-hysterical  laugh,  and  said  :  — 

"No;  nothing  worth  speaking  of.  I  felt  a  little  faint, 
that  was  all.     I  am  better  now." 

She  turned  full  towards  him,  and  seemed  to  try  to  look  all 
right ;  but  there  was  a  kind  of  film  over  the  clearness  of  her 
black  eyes. 

"  I  fear  that  you  have  a  headache." 

"  A  little,  but  it  is  nothins;.     I  will  go  and  lie  down." 

"Do,  pray;  else  you  will  not  be  well  enough  to  appear  at 
dinner." 

She  retired,  and  Hugh  joined  Harry. 

Euphra  had  another  glass  of  claret  with  her  uncle  that 
evening,  in  order  to  give  her  report  of  the  morning's  ride. 

"Really,  there  is  not  much  to  be  afraid  of,  uncle.  He 
takes  very  good  care  of  Harry.  To  be  sure,  I  had  occasion 
several  times  to  check  him  a  little ;  but  he  has  this  good  qual- 
ity in  addition  to  a  considerable  aptitude  for  teaching,  that  he 
perceives  a  hint,  and  takes  it  at  once." 

Knowing  her  uncle's  formality,  and  preference  for  precise 
and  judicial  modes  of  expression,  Euphra  modelled  her 
phrase  to  his  mind. 

"  I  am  glad  he  has  your  good  opinion  so  far,  Euphra  ;  for 
I  confess  there  is  something  about  the  youth  that  pleases  me. 
I  was  afraid  at  first  tliat  I  might  be  annoyed  by  his  overstep- 
ping the  true  boundaries  of  his  position  in  my  family.  He 
seems  to  have  been  in  good  society  too.     But  your  assurance 


148  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

that  lie  can  take  a  hint  lessens  my  apprehension  considerably. 
To-morrow  I  "will  ask  him  to  resume  his  seat  after  dessert." 

This  was  not  exactly  the  object  of  Euphra's  qualified  com- 
mendation of  Hugh.     But  she  could  not  help  it  now. 

"I  think,  however,  if  you  approve,  uncle,  that  it  will  be 
more  prudent  to  keep  a  little  watch  over  the  riding  for  a 
while.  I  confess,  too,  I  should  be  glad  of  a  little  more  of  that 
exercise  than  I  have  had  for  some  time.  I  found  my  seat  not 
very  secure  to-day." 

"  Very  desirable  on  both  considerations,  my  love." 

And  so  the  conference  ended. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

» 

NEST-BUILDING. 

If  you  will  have  a  tree  bear  more  fruit  than  it  hath  used  to  do,  it  is  not  anything 
you  can  do  to  the  boughs,  but  it  is  the  stirring  of  the  earth,  and  putting  new  mould 
about  the  roots,  that  must  work  it.  — Lord  Bacon's  Advancement  o/JLearninr/,  b.  ii. 

In  a  short  time,  Harry's  health  was  so  much  improved,  and 
consequently  the  strength  and  activity  of  his  mind  so  much 
increased,  that  Hugh  began  to  give  him  more  exact  mental 
operations  to  perform.  But  as  if  he  had  been  a  reader  of 
Lord  Bacon,  which  as  yet  he  was  not,  and  had  learned  from  him 
that  "  wonder  is  the  seed  of  knowledge,"  he  came,  by  a  kind 
of  sympathetic  instinct,  to  the  same  conclusion  practically,  in 
the  case  of  Harry.  He  tried  to  wake  a  question  in  him,  by 
ehowing  him  something  that  would  rouse  his  interest.  The 
reply  to  this  question  might  be  the  whole  rudiments  of  a  sci- 
ence. 

Things  themselves  should  lead  to  the  science  of  them.  If 
things  are  not  interesting  in  themselves,  how  can  any  amount 
of  knowledge  about  them  be  ?  To  be  sure,  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  a  purely  or  abstractly  intellectual  interest,  —  the 
pleasure  of  the  mere  operation  of  the  intellect  upon  the  signs 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  149 

of  things ;  but  this  must  spring  from  a  higlilj  exercised  intel- 
lectual condition,  and  is  not  to  be  expected  before  the  pleas- 
ures of  intellectual  motion  have  been  experienced  through  the 
employment  of  its  means  for  other  ends.  Whether  this  is  a 
higher  condition  or  not  is  open  to  much  disquisition. 

One  day  Hugh  was  purposely  engaged  in  taking  the  alti- 
tude of  the  highest  turret  of  the  house,  with  an  old  quadrant 
he  had  found  in  the  library,  when  Harry  came  up. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  big  brother  ?  "  said  he  ;  for  now  that 
he  was  quite  at  home  Avith  Hugh,  there  was  a  wonderful  mix- 
ture of  familiarity  and  respect  in  him,  that  was  quite  bewitch- 
ino;. 

O 

"  Finding  out  how  high  your  house  is,  little  brother,"  an- 
swered Hugh. 

"How  can  you  do  it  with  that  thing?  Will  it  measure 
the  heio-ht  of  other  things  besides  the  house?  " 

"  Yes,  the  height  of  a  mountain,  or  anything  you  like." 

"  Do  show  me  how." 

Hugh  showed  him  as  much  of  it  as  he  could. 

"  But  I  don't  understand  it." 

''  Oh  !  that  is  quite  another  thing.  To  do  that,  you  must 
learn  a  great  many  things,  — Euclid  to  begin  with." 

That  very  afternoon  Harry  began  Euclid,  and  soon  found 
quite  enough  of  interest  on  the  road  to  the  quadrant,  to  pre- 
vent him  from  feeling  any  tediousness  in  its  length. 

Of  an  afternoon  Hugh  had  taken  to  reading  Shakespeare  to 
Harry.  Euphra  was  always  a  listener.  On  one  occasion 
Harry  said :  — 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Mr.  Sutherland,  but  I  don't  understand 
the  half  of  it.  Sometimes  when  Euphra  and  you  are  laugh- 
ing,—  and  sometimes  when  Euphra  is  crying,"  added  he, 
looking  at  her  slyly,  "  I  can't  understand  what  it  is  all  about. 
Am  I  so  very  stupid,  Mr.  Sutherland?"  And  he  almost 
cried  himself 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Harry,  my  boy  ;  only  you  must  learn  a 
great  many  other  things  first." 

"  How  can  I  learn  them  ?  I  am  willing  to  learn  anything. 
T  don't  find  it  tire  me  now  as  it  used." 

"  There  are  many  things  necessary  to  understand  Shakes- 
peare that  I  cannot  teach  you,  and  that  some  people  never 


150  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

learn.  Most  of  them  will  come  of  tliemselvcs  But  of  one 
thing  you  may  be  sure,  Harry,  that  if  you  k.arn  anything, 
Avhatever  it  be,  you  are  so  far  nearer  to  understanding  Shakes- 
peare. ' ' 

The  same  afternoon,  Avhen  Harry  had  waked  from  his 
siesta,  upon  which  Hugh  still  insisted,  they  went  out  for  a 
walk  in  the  fields.  The  sun  was  half  way  down  the  sky,  but 
very  hot  and  sultry. 

"  I  wish  we  had  our  cave  of  straw  to  creep  into  now,"  said 
Harry,  "  I  felt  exactly  like  the  little  field-mouse  you  read  to  me 
about  in  Burns'  poems,  when  we  went  in  that  morning,  and 
found  it  all  torn  up,  and  half  of  it  carried  away.  We  have 
no  place  to  go  to  now  for  a  peculiar  own  place  ;  and  the  con- 
sequence is,  you  have  not  told  me  any  stories  about  the  Ro- 
mans for  a  whole  week." 

"  Well,  Harry,  is  there  any  way  of  making  another  ?  " 

"There's  no  more  straw  lying  about  that  I  know  of,"  an- 
swered Harry;  "and  it  won't  do  to  pull  the  inside  out  of 
a  rick,  I  am  afraid." 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  would  be  pleasant  to  have  a  chanae 
now  ;  and  as  we  have  lived  underground,  or  say  in  the  snow 
like  the  North  people,  try  living  in  the  air  like  some  of  the 
South  people  ?  ' ' 

"  Delightful !  "  cried  Harry.  —  "  A  balloon?  " 

"  No,  not  quite  that.      Don't  you  think  a  nest  would  do?  " 

"  Up  in  a  tree?  " 

"Yes." 

Harry  darted  off  for  a  run,  as  the  only  means  of  expressing 
his  delight.     When  he  came  back,  he  said  :  — 

"When  shall  we  begin,  Mr.  Sutherland  ?  " 

' '  We  will  go  and  look  for  a  place  at  once  ;  but  I  am  not 
quite  sure  when  we  shall  begin  yet.  I  shall  find  out  to-night 
though." 

They  left  the  fields,  and  went  into  the  woods  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  house,  at  the  back.  Here  the  trees  had  grown 
to  a  great  size,  some  of  them  being  very  old  indeed.  They 
soon  fixed  upon  a  grotesque  old  oak  as  a  proper  tree  in  which 
to  build  their  nest;  and  Harry,  who,  as  well  as  Hugh,  had  a 
good  deal  of  constructiveness  in  his  nature,  was  so  delighted, 
that  the  heat  seemed  to  have  no  more  influence  upon  him  ;  and 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  151 

Hugh,  fearful  of  the  reaction,  was  compelled  to  restrain  his 
gambols. 

Pursuing  their  way  through  the  dark  warp  of  the  Avood. 
with  its  golden  weft  of  crossing  sunbeams,  Hu;]jh  began  to  tell 
Harry  the  story  of  the  killing  of  Csesar  by  Brutus  and  the 
rest,  filling  up  the  account  with  portions  from  Shakespeare. 
Fortunately,  he  was  able  to  give  the  oi-ations  of  Brutus  and 
Antony  in  full.  Harry  was  in  ecstasy  over  the  eloquence  of 
the  two  men.  "Well,  what  language  do  you  think  they 
spoke,  Harry?"  said  Hugh. 

"  Why,"  said  Harry,  hesitating,  "I  suppose  —  "  then,  as 
if  a  sudden  light  broke  upon  him,  "Latin,  of  course.  How 
strange  !  " 

"  Why  strange  ?  " 

"  That  such  men  should  talk  such  a  dry,  unpleasant  lan- 
guage." 

"I  allow  it  is  a  difficult  language,  Harry;  and  very  pon- 
derous and  mechanical ;  but  not  necessarily  dry  or  unpleasant. 
The  Romans,  you  know,  were  particularly  fond  of  law  in 
everything;  and  so  they  made  a  great  many  laws  for  their 
language ;  or,  rather,  it  grew  so,  because  they  were  of  that 
sort.  It  was  like  their  swords  and  armor  generally,  not  very 
graceful,  but  very  strong  ;  like  their  architecture  too,  Har- 
ry. Nobody  can  ever  understand  what  a  people  is,  without 
knowing  its  language.  It  is  not  only  that  we  find  all  these 
stories  about  them  in  their  lan^ijuaiiie,  but  the  language  itself  is 
more  like  them  than  anything  else  can  be.  Besides,  Harry,  I 
don't  believe  you  know  anything  about  Latin  yet." 

"  I  know  all  the  declensions  and  conjugations." 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  must  have  been  a  very  difierent 
thing  to  hear  it  spoken  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,  and  by  such  men.  But  how  ever  could 
they  speak  it?  " 

'•  They  spoke  it  just  as  you  do  English.  It  was  as  natural 
to  them.  But  you  cannot  say  you  know  anything  about  it, 
till  you  read  Avhat  they  wrote  in  it ;  till  your  ears  delight  in 
the  sound  of  their  poetry  —  " 

"Poetry?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  beautiful  letters,  and  wise  lessons,  and  histories 
and  plays." 


152  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  Oh  !  I  should  like  you  to  teach  me.  Will  it  be  as  hard 
to  learn  always  as  it  is  now  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.       I  am  sure  you  will  like  it." 

"  When  will  you  begin  me?  " 

' '  To-morrow^  And  if  you  get  on  pretty  well,  we  will 
begin  our  nest,  too,  in  the  afternoon." 

'•'  Oh,  how  kind  you  are  !     I  will  try  very  hard." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will,  Harry." 

Next  morning,  accordingly,  Hugh  did  begin  him,  after  a 
a  fashion  of  his  own  ;  namely,  by  giving  him  a  short,  simple 
story  to  read,  finding  out  all  the  words  with  him  in  the  dic- 
tionary, and  telling  him  what  the  terminations  of  the  words 
signified ;  for  he  found  that  he  had  already  forgotten  a  very 
great  deal  of  what,  according  to  Euphra,  he  had  been  thor- 
oughly taught.  No  one  can  remember  what  is  entirely  unin- 
teresting to  him. 

Hugh  was  as  precise  about  the  grammar  of  a  language  as 
any  Scotch  Professor  of  Humanity,  old  Prosody  not  excepted; 
but  he  thought  it  time  enough  to  begin  to  that,  when  some  in- 
terest in  the  words  themselves  should  have  been  awakened  in 
the  mind  of  his  pupil.  He  hated  slovenliness  as  much  as  any 
one ;  but  the  question  was,  how  best  to  arrive  at  thoroughness 
in  the  end,  without  losing  the  higher  objects  of  study ;  and  not 
how,  at  all  risks,  to  commence  teaching  the  lesson  of  thorough- 
ness at  once,  and  so  waste  on  the  shape  of  a  pin-head  the  in- 
tellect which,  properly  directed,  might  arrive  at  the  far  more 
minute  accuracies  of  a  steam-engine.  The  fault  of  Euphra  in 
teaching  Harry  had  been,  that,  with  a  certain  kind  of  tyran- 
nical accuracy,  she  had  determined  to  have  the  thing  done, — 
not  merely  decently  and  in  order,  but  prudishly  and  pedanti- 
cally ;  so  that  she  deprived  progress  of  tbe  pleasure  which 
ought  naturally  to  attend  it.  She  spoiled  the  walk  to  the  dis- 
tant outlook,  by  stopping  at  every  step,  not  merely  to  pick 
flowers,  but  to  botanize  on  the  Aveeds,  and  to  calculate  the  dis- 
tance advanced.  It  is  quite  true  that  we  ought  to  learn  to  do 
things  irrespective  of  the  reward  ;  but  plenty  of  opportunities 
will  be  given  in  the  progress  of  life,  and  in  much  higher  kinds 
of  action,  to  exercise  our  sense  of  duty  in  severe  loneliness. 
We  have  no  right  to  turn  intellectual  exercises  into  pure  oper- 
ations of  conscience ;  these  ought  to  involve  essential  duty ;  al- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  153 

though  no  doubt  there  is  plenty  of  room  for  mingling  duty 
with  those ;  Avhile,  on  the  other  hand,  the  highest  act  of  suffer- 
ing self-denial  is  not  without  its  accompanying  reward.  Nei- 
ther is  there  any  exercise  of  the  higher  intellectual  powers  in 
learning  the  mere  grammar  of  a  language,  necessary  as  it  is 
for  a  means.  And  language  having  been  made  before  gram- 
mar, a  language  must  be  in  some  measure  understood,  before 
its  grammar  can  become  intelligible. 

Harry's  weak  (though  true  and  keen)  life  could  not  force 
its  way  into  any  channel.  His  was  a  nature  essentially  de- 
pendent on  sympathy.  It  could  flow  into  truth  through 
another  loving  mind ;  left  to  itself,  it  could  not  find  the  way, 
and  sank  in  the  dry  sand  of  ennui  and  self-imposed  obligations. 
Euphra  was  utterly  incapable  of  understanding  him ;  and  the 
boy  had  been  dying  for  lack  of  sympathy,  though  neither  he 
nor  any  one  about  him  had  suspected  the  fact. 

There  was  a  strange  disproportion  between  his  knowledge 
and  his  capacity.  He  was  able,  when  his  attention  was  di- 
rected, his  gaze  fixed,  and  his  whole  nature  supported  by 
Hugh,  to  see  deep  into  many  things,  and  his  remarks  were 
often  strikingly  original ;  but  he  was  one  of  the  most  ignorant 
boys,  for  his  years,  that  Hugh  had  ever  come  across.  A 
long  and  severe  illness,  when  he  was  just  passing  into  boyhood, 
had  thrown  him  back  far  into  his  childhood ;  and  he  was  only 
now  beginning  to  show  that  he  had  anything  of  the  boy-life  in 
him.  Hence  arose  that  unequal  development  which  has  been 
sufficiently  evident  in  the  story. 

In  the  afternoon  they  went  to  the  wood,  and  found  the  tree 
they  had  chosen  for  their  nest.  To  Harry's  intense  admira- 
tion, Hugh,  as  he  said,  went  up  -the  tree  like  a  squirrel,  only 
he  was  too  big  for  a  bear  even.  Just  one  layer  of  foliage 
above  the  lowest  branches,  he  came  to  a  place  where  he  thought 
there  was  a  suitable  foundation  for  the  nest.  From  the  ground 
Harry  could  scarcely  see  him,  as,  Avith  an  axe  which  he  had 
borrowed  for  the  purpose  (for  there  was  a  carpenter's  work- 
shop on  the  premises),  he  cut  away  several  small  branches 
from  three  of  the  principal  ones ;  and  so  had  these  three  as 
rafters,  ready  dressed  and  placed,  for  the  foundation  of  the 
nest.  Having  made  some  measurements,  he  descended,  and 
repairing  with  Harry  to  the  workshop,  procured  some  boarding 


154 


DAVID    ELGINBROD. 


and  some  tools,  wliicli  Ilariy  assisted  in  carrying  to  the  tree. 
Ascending  again,  and  drawing  up  his  materials,  by  the  help  of 
Harry,  with  a  piece  of  string,  Hugh  in  a  very  little  while  had 
a  level  floor,  four  feet  square,  in  the  heart  of  the  oak-tree, 
quite  invisible  from  below, —  buried  in  a  cloud  of  green  leaves. 
For  greater  safety,  he  fastened  ropes  as  hand-rails  all  around  it 
from  one  branch  to  another.  And  now  nothing  remained  but 
to  construct  a  bench  to  sit  on,  and  such  a  stair  as  Harry  could 
easily  climb.  The  boy  was  quite  restless  with  anxiety  to  get 
up  and  see  the  nest ;  and  kept  calling  out  constantly  to  know  if 
he  might  not  come  up  yet.  At  length  Hugh  allowed  him  to 
try ;  but  the  poor  boy  was  not  half  strong  enough  to  climb  the 
tree  without  help.  So  Hugh  descended,  and  with  his  aid  Har- 
ry was  soon  standing  on  the  new-built  platform. 

"  I  feel  just  like  an  eagle,"  he  cried ;  but  here  his  voice 
faltered,  and  he  was  silent. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Harry?  "  said  his  tutor. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  replied  he;  "only  I  didn'-t  exactly  know 
whereabouts  we  were  till  I  got  up  here." 

"  Whereabouts  are  we,  then  ?  " 

"  Close  to  the  end  of  the  Ghost's  Walk." 

"  But  you  don't  mind  that  now,  surely,  Harry?  '' 

"  No,  sir ;  that  is,  not  so  much  as  I  used." 

"  Shall  I  take  all  this  down  again,  and  build  our  nest  some- 
where else?  " 

"Oh,  no,  if  you  don't  think  it  matters.  It  would  be  a  great 
pity,  after  you  have  taken  so  much  trouble  with  it.  Besides, 
I  shall  never  be  here  without  you ;  and  I  do  no.t  think  I  should 
be  afraid  of  the  ghost  herself,  if  you  were  with  me." 

Yet  Harry  shuddered  involuntarily  at  the  thought  of  his  own 
daring  speech. 

"  Very  well,  Harry,  my  boy;  we  will  finish  it  here.  Now, 
if  you  stand  there,  I  will  fisten  a  plank  across  here  between 
these  two  stumps,  —  no,  that  won't  do  exactly.  I  must  put  a 
])iece  on  to  this  one,  to  raise  it  to  a  level  with  the  other; 
then  we  shall  have  a  seat  in  a  few  minutes." 

Hammer  and  nails  were  busy  again  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
they  sat  down  to  enjoy  the  "soft  pipling  cold,"  which  swung 
all  the  leaves  about  like  little  trap-doors  that  opened  into  the 
Infinite.      Harry   was    highly   contented.     He   drew  a   deep 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  155 

breath  of  satisfaction  as,  looking  above  and  beneath  and  all 
about  him,  he  saw  that  thej  were  folded  in  an  almost  im- 
penetrable net  of  foliage,  through  which  nothing  could  steal 
into  their  sanctuary,  save  "the  chartered  libertine,  the  air," 
and  a  few  straj  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  filtering  through  the 
multitudinous  leaves,  from  which  thej  caught  a  green  tint  as 
they  passed. 

"  Fancy  yourself  a  fish,"  said  Hugh,  "in  the  depth  of  a 
'tavern  of  seaweed,  which  floats  about  in  the  slow,  swinging 
notion  of  the  heavy  waters." 

"  What  a  funny  notion  !  " 

"  Not  so  absurd  as  you  may  think.  Harry ;  for  just  as  some 
fishes  crawl  about  on  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  so  do  we  men  at 
the  bottom  of  an  ocean  of  air ;  which,  if  it  be  a  thinner  one,  is 
certainly  a  deeper  one." 

"  Then  the  birds  are  the  swimming  fishes,  are  they  not?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure." 

"  And  you  and  I  are  two  mermen  —  doing  what  ?  Waiting 
for  mother  mermaid  to  give  us  our  dinner.  I  am  getting 
hungry.  But  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  a  mermaid  gets  up 
here,  I  am  afraid." 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  Hugh,  "  that  I  must  build  a  stair 
for  you,  Master  Harry  ;  for  you  are  not  merman  enough  to  get 
up  with  a  stroke  of  your  scaly  tail.  So  here  goes.  You  can 
eit  there  till  I  fetch  you." 

Nailing  a  little  rude  bracket  here  and  there  on  the  stem  of 
the  tree,  just  where  Harry  could  avail  himself  of  hand-hold  as 
well,  Hugh  had  soon  finished  a  strangely  irregular  staircase, 
which  it  took  Harry  two  or  three  times'  trying,  to  learn  quite 
:)ff. 


166  DAVID    ELQINBROD. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

GEOGRAPHY   POINT. 

I  will  fetch  you  a  tooth-picker  now  from  the  farthest  inch  of  Asia  ;  bring  you  the 
length  of  Prester  John's  foot  ;  fetch  you  a  hair  off  the  great  Cham's  beard  ;  do  you 
any  embassage  to  the  Pigmies.  —  Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

The  next  day,  after  dinner,  Mr.  Arnold  said  to  the  tutor :  — 

"  Well,  Mr.  Sutherland,  how  does  Harry  get  on  with  his 
geography?  " 

Mr.  Arnold,  be  it  understood,  had  a  weakness  for  geography. 

"  We  have  not  done  anything  at  that  yet,  Mr.  Arnold." 

"Not  done  anything  at  geography!  And  the  boy  getting 
quite  robust  now  !  I  am  astonished,  Mr.  Sutherland.  Why, 
when  he  was  a  mere  child,  he  could  repeat  all  the  counties  of 
England." 

"  Perhaps  that  may  be  the  reason  for  the  decided  distaste 
he  shows  for  it  now,  Mr.  Arnold.  But  I  will  begin  to  teach 
him  at  once,  if  you  desire  it." 

''I  do  desire  it,  Mr.  Sutherland.  A  thorough  geographical 
knowledge  is  essential  to  the  education  of  a  gentleman.  Ask 
me  any  question  you  please,  Mr.  Sutherland,  on  the  map  of 
the  world,  or  any  of  its  divisions." 

Hugh  asked  a  few  questions,  which  Mr.  Arnold  answered  at 
once. 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  "  said  he,  "  this  is  mere  child's  play.  Let 
me  ask  you  some,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

His  very  first  question  posed  Hugh,  whose  knowledge  in 
this  science  was  not  by  any  means  minute. 

"I  fear  I  am  no  gentleman,"  said  he,  laughing;  "but  I 
can  at  least  learn  as  well  as  teach.  We  shall  begin  to- 
morrow." 

"  What  books  have  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  no  books,  if  you  please,  just  yet.  If  you  are  satis- 
fied with  Harry's  progress  so  far,  let  me  have  my  own  way  in 
this  too," 

"  But  geography  does  not  seem  your  strong  point." 

"  No ;  but  I  may  be  able  to  teach  it  all  the  better  from 
feeling  the  difficulties  of  a  learner  myself." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  157 

"Well,  you  shall  have  a  fair  trial." 

Next  morning  Hugh  and  Ilarrj  went  out  for  a  walk  to  the 
top  of  a  hill  in  the  neighborhood.  When  they  reached  it, 
Hugh  took  a  small  compass  from  his  pocket,  and  set  it  on  the 
ground,  contemplating  it  and  the  horizon  alternately. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Mr.  Sutherland  ?  " 

"I  am  trying  to  find  the  exact  liae  that  would  go  through 
my  home,"  said  he. 

"  Is  that  funny  little  thing  able  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  this  along  with  other  things.  Isn't  it  curious, 
Harry,  to  have  in  my  pocket  a  little  thing  with  a  kind  of  spirit 
in  it,  that  understands  the  spirit  that  is  in  the  big  world,  and 
always  points  to  its  North  Pole  ?  ' ' 

"Explain  it  to  me." 

"  It  is  nearly  as  much  a  mystery  to  me  as  to  you." 

"  Where  is  the  North  Pole?  " 

"Look,  the  little  thing  points  to  it." 

"  But  I  will  turn  it  away.  Oh  !  it  won't  go.  It  goes  back 
and  back,  do  what  I  will." 

"Yes,  it  will,  if  you  turn  it  away  all  day  long.  Look, 
Harry,  if  you  were  to  go  straight  on  in  this  direction,  you 
would  come  to  a  Laplander,  harnessing  his  broad-horned  rein- 
deer to  his  sledge.  He's  at  it  now,  I  dare  say.  If  you  were 
to  go  in  this  line  exactly,  you  would  go  through  the  smoke  and 
fire  of  a  burning  mountain  in  a  land  of  ice.  If  you  were  to 
go  this  way,  straight  on,  you  would  find  yourself  in  the  middle 
of  a  forest  with  a  lion  glaring  at  your  feet,  for  ft  is  dark  night 
there  now,  and  so  hot !  And  over  there,  straight  on,  there  is 
such  a  lovely  su»set.  The  top  of  a  snowy  mountain  is  all  pink 
with  light,  though  the  sun  is  down  —  oh,  such  colors  all  about, 
like  fairyland  !  And  there,  there  is  a  desert  of  sand,  and  a 
camel  dying,  and  all  his  companions  just  disappearing  on  the 
horiton.  And  there,  there  is  an  awful  sea,  without  a  boat  to 
be  seen  on  it,  dark  and  dismal,  with  huge  rocks  all  about  it, 
and  waste  borders  of  sand  —  so  dreadful !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  all  this,  Mr.  Sutherland?  You  havfl 
never  walked  along  those  lines,  I  know,  for  you  couldn't.'* 

"  Geography  has  taught  me." 

"No.  Mr.  Sutherland!  "  said  Harry,  incredulously. 


158  DAVID    ELGINBROD.  , 

"  Well,  shall  we  travel  along  this  line,  just  across  that  crown 
of  trees  on  the  hill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  do  let  us." 

"Tlien,"  said  Hugh,  drawing  a  telescope  from  his  pocket, 
"this  hill  is  henceforth  Geography  Point,  and  all  the  world 
lies  round  about  it.  Do  you  know  we  are  in  the  very  middle 
of  the  earth?" 

"  Are  we,  indeed  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Don't  you  know  any  point  you  like  to  choose  on  a 
ball  is  the  middle  of  it?" 

"  Oh  !  yes  —  of  course." 

"Very  well.  What  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  down 
there?  " 

"  Arnstead,  to  be  sure." 

"  And  what  beyond  there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Look  through  here." 

"  Oh  !  that  must  be  the  village  we  rode  to  yesterday,  — I 
forget  the  name  of  it." 

Hugh  told  him  the  name ;  and  then  made  him  look  with  the 
telescope  all  along  the  receding  line  to  the  trees  on  the  opposite 
hill.     Just  as  he  caught  them,  a  voice  beside  them  said  :  — 

"  What  are  you  about,  Harry?  " 

Hugh  felt  a  glow  of  pleasure  as  the  voice  fell  on  his  ear. 

It  was  Euphra's. 

"Oh!"  replied  Harry,  "Mr.  Sutherland  is  teaching  me 
geography  wilfh  a  telescope.     It's  such  fun  !  " 

"  He's  a  wonderful  tutor,  that  of  yours,  Harry." 

"Yes,  isn't  he  just?  But,"  Harry  went  on,  turning  to 
Hugh,  "  Avhat  are  we  to  do  now?  We  can't  get  farther  for 
that  hill." 

"  Ah  !  we  must  apply  to  your  papa  now,  to  lend  us  some  of 
his  beautiful  maps.  They  will  teach  us  what  lies  beyond  that 
hill.  And  then  we  can  read  in  some  of  his  books  about  the 
places ;  and  so  go  on  and  on,  till  we  reach  the  beautiful,  wide, 
)-estless  sea  ;  over  which  we  must  sail,  in  spite  of  wind  and  tide, 
straight  on  and  on,  till  we  come  to  land  again.  But  we 
must  make  a  great  many  such  journeys  before  we  really  know 
what  sort  of  a  place  we  are  living  in ;  and  we  shall  have  ever 
so  many  things  to  learn  that  will  surprise  us." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  159 

"  Oh  !  it  tvill  be  nice  !  "  cried  Harry. 

After  a  little  more  geographical  talk,  they  put  up  their  in- 
struments, and  began  to  descend  the  hill.  Harry  was  in  no 
need  of  Hugh's  back  now,  but  Euphra  was  in  need  of  his  hand. 
In  fact,  she  spelled  for  its  support. 

'•  How  awkward  of  me  !  I  am  stumbling  over  the  heather 
shamefully." 

She  was,  in  fact,  stumbling  over  her  own  dress,  which  she 
would  not  hold  up.  Hugh  offered  his  hand ;  and  her  small  one 
seemed  quite  content  to  be  swallowed  up  in  his  large  one. 

' '  Why  do  you  never  let  me  put  you  on  your  horse  ?  ' '  said 
Hugh.  "  You  always  manage  to  prevent  me  somehow  or 
other.  The  last  time,  I  just  turned  my  head,  and,  behold ! 
when  I  looked,  you  were  gathering  your  reins." 

"  It's  only  a  trick  of  independence,  Hugh  —  Mr.  Sutherland 
—  I  beg  your  pardon." 

I  can  make  no  excuse  for  Euphra,  for  she  had  positively 
never  heard  him  called  Hugh  ;  there  was  no  one  to  do 
so.  But  the  slip  had  not,  therefore,  the  less  effect ;  for  it 
sounded  as  if  she  had  been  saying  his  name  over  and  over  again 
to  herself. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  repeated  Euphra,  hastily;  for,  as 
Hugh  did  not  reply,  she  feared  her  arrow  had  swerved  from  its 
mark. 

' '  For  a  sweet  fault.  Euphra  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  Miss 
Cameron." 

"You  punish  me  with  forgiveness,"  returned  she,  with  one 
of  her  sweetest  looks. 

Hugh  could  not  help  pressing  the  little  hand. 

Was  the  pressure  returned?  So  slight,  so  airy  was  the 
touch,  that  it  might  have  been  only  the  throb  of  his  own  pulses, 
all  conscioursly  vital  about  the  wonderful  woman-hand  that 
rested  in  his.  If  he  had  claimed  it,  she  might  easily  have 
denied  it,  so  ethereal  and  uncertain  was  it.  Yet  he  believed 
in  it.  He  never  dreamed  that  she  was  exercising  her  skill 
upon  him.  What  could  be  her  object  in  bewitching  a  poor 
tutor  ?     Ah  !  what  indeed  ? 

Meantime  this  much  is  certain,  that  she  was  drawing  Hugh 
closer  and  closer  to  her  side  ;  that  a  soothing  dream  of  delight 
had  begun  to  steal  over  his  spirit,  soon  to  make  it  toss  in 


160  DAVID    BLGINBROD. 

feverous  unrest,  —  as  the  first  effects  of  some  poisons  are  like  a 
dawn  of  tenfold  strength.  The  mountain  Avind  blew  from  her 
to  him,  sometimes  sweeping  her  garments  about  him,  and 
bathing  him  in  their  faint,  sweet  odors,  —  odors  which  some- 
how seemed  to  belong  to  her  whom  they  had  only  last  visited ; 
sometimes,  so  kindly  strong  did  it  blow,  compelling  her,  or  at 
least  giving  her  excuse  enough,  to  leave  his  hand  and  cling 
closely  to  his  arm.  A  fresh  spring  began  to  burst  from  the 
very  bosom  of  what  had  seemed  before  a  perfect  summer.  A 
spring  to  summer !  What  would  the  folloAving  summer  be  ? 
Ah  !  and  what  the  autumn  ?  And  what  the  winter  ?  For  if 
the  summer  be  tenfold  summer,  then  must  the  winter  be  tenfold 
■winter. 

But  though  knowledge  is  good  for  man,  foreknowledge  is 
not  so  good. 

And,  though  Love  be  good,  a  tempest  of  it  in  the  brain  will 
not  ripen  the  fruits  like  a  soft,  steady  wind,  or  waft  the  ships 
home  to  their  desired  haven. 

Perhaps  what  enslaved  Hugh  most  was  the  feeling  that 
the  damsel  stooped  to  him,  without  knowing  that  she  stooped. 
She  seemed  to  him  in  every  way  above  him.  She  knew  so 
many  things  of  which  he  was  ignorant ;  could  say  such  lovely 
things ;  could,  he  did  not  doubt,  write  lovely  verses ;  could 
sing  like  an  angel  (though  Scotch  songs  are  not  of  essentially 
angelic  strain,  nor  Italian  songs  either,  in  general ;  and  they 
were  all  that  she  could  do)  ;  was  mistress  of  a  great,  rich,  won- 
derful house,  with  a  history  ;  and,  more  than  all,  was,  or  ap- 
peared to  him  to  be  —  a  beautiful  woman.  It  was  true  that 
his  family  was  as  good  as  hers  ;  but  he  had  disowned  his  family, 
—  so  his  pride  declared  ;  and  the  same  pride  made  him  despise 
his  present  position,  and  look  upon  a  tutor's  employment  as  — 
as  — well,  as  other  people  look  upon  it ;  as  a  rather  contempti- 
ble one  in  fact,  especially  for  a  young,  powerful,  six-foot  fellow. 

The  influence  of  Euphrasia  was  not  of  the  best  upon  him 
from  the  first ;  for  it  had  greatly  increased  this  feeling  about 
his  occupation.  It  could  not  affect  his  feelings  towards  Har- 
ry ;  so  the  boy  did  not  suffer  as  yet.  But  it  set  him  upon  a 
very  unprofitable  kind  of  castle-building  :  he  would  be  a  soldier 
like  his  father;  he  would  leave  Arnstead,  to  revisit  it  with  a 
sword  by  his  side,  and  a  Sir  before  his  name.      Sir  Hugh 


DAVIL    ELGINliKOD.  161 

Sutherland  would  be  somebody  even  in  the  eyes  of  the  master 
of  Arnstead.      Yes,  a  six-foot  fellow,  though  he  may  be  sensi- 
ble in  the  main,  is  not,  therefore,  free  from   small  vanities,  es- 
pecially if  he  be  in  love.     But  how  leave  Euphra  ?  " 
Again  I  outrun  my  story. 


CHAPTER  X 


(Jjf    Til; 


UFI7SE&ix 


A 


ITALIAN. 

Per  me  si  va  nella  citti  dolente. 

Dante. 
Through  me  thou  goest  into  the  city  of  grief. 

Of  necessity,  with  so  many  shafts  opened  into  the  mountain 
of  knowledge,  a  far  greater  amount  of  time  must  be  devoted 
by  Harry  and  his  tutor  to  the  working  of  the  mine  than  they 
had  given  hitherto.  This  made  a  considerable  alteration  in 
the  intercourse  of  the  youth  and  the  lady  ;  for,  although  Eu- 
phra was  often  present  during  school-hours,  it  must  be  said  for 
Hugh  that,  during  those  hours,  he  paid  almost  all  his  atten- 
tion to  Harry ;  so  much  of  it,  indeed,  that  perhaps  there  was 
not  enough  left  to  please  the  lady.  But  she  did  not  say  so. 
She  sat  beside  them  in  silence,  occupied  with  her  work,  and 
saving  up  her  glances  for  use.  Now  and  then  she  would  read  ; 
taking  an  opportunity  sometimes,  but  not  often,  when  a  fit- 
ting pause  occurred,  to  ask  him  to  explain  some  passage  about 
which  she  was  in  doubt.  It  must  be  conceded  that  such  pas- 
sages were  well  chosen  for  the  purpose ;  for  she  was  too  wise 
to  do  her  own  intellect  discredit  by  feigning  a  difficulty  where 
she  saw  none ;  intellect  being  the  only  gift  in  others  for  which 
she  was  conscious  of  any  reverence. 

By  and  by  she  began  to  discontinue  these  visits  to  the 
school-room.  Perhaps  she  found  them  dull.  Perhaps  —  but 
we  shall  see. 

One  morning,  in  the  course  of  their  study, —  Euphra  not 
present  —  Hugh  had  occasion  to  go  from  his  own  room,  where 
11 


162  DAVID    ELQINBROD. 

for  the  most  part,  they  carried  on  the  severer  portion  of  their 
labors,  clown  to  the  library  for  a  book,  to  enlighten  them 
upon  some  point  on  which  they  were  in  doubt.  As  he  was 
passing  an  open  door  Euphra's  voice  called  him.  He  entered, 
and  found  himself  in  her  private  sitting-room.  He  had  not 
known  before  where  at  was. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Sutherland,  for  calling  you,  but  I 
am  at  this  moment  in  a  difficulty.  I  cannot  manage  this  line 
in  the  'Inferno.'     Do  help  me." 

She  moved  the  book  towards  him,  as  he  now  stood  by  her 
side,  she  remaining  seated  at  her  table.  To  his  mortification, 
he  was  compelled  to  confess  his  utter  ignorance  of  the  lan- 
guage. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  disappointed,"  said  Eaphra. 

"  Not  so  much  as  I  am,"  replied  Hugh.  "  But  could  you 
spare  me  one  or  two  of  your  Italian  books?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  she  answered,  rising  and  going  to  her 
book-shelves. 

"  I  want  only  a  grammar,  a  dictionary,  and  a  New  Testa- 
ment." 

"  There  they  are,"  she  said,  taking  them  down  one  after  the 
other  and  bringing  them  to  him.  ' '  I  dare  say  you  will  soon 
get  up  with  poor  stupid  me." 

"I  shall  do  my  best  to  get  within  hearing  of  your  voice 
at  least,  in  which  Italian  must  be  lovely." 

No  reply,  but  a  sudden  droop  of  the  head. 

"But,"  continued  Hugh,  "upon  second  thoughts,  lest  I 
should  be  compelled  to  remain  dumb,  or  else  annoy  your  deli- 
cate ear  with  discordant  sounds,  just  give  me  one  lesson  in  the 
pronunciation.     Let  me  hear  you  read  a  little  first." 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

Euphra  began,  and  read  delightfully  ;  for  she  was  an  excel- 
lent Italian  scholar.  It  was  necessary  that  Hugh  should  look 
over  the  book.  This  was  difficult  while  he  remained  standing, 
as  she  did  not  offer  to  lift  it  from  the  table.  Gradually,  there- 
fore, and  hardly  knowing  how,  he  settled  into  a  chair  by  her 
side.  Half  an  hour  went  by  like  a  minute,  as  he  listened  to 
the  silvery  tones  of  her  voice,  breaking  into  a  bell-like  sound 
upon  the  double  consonants  of  that  sweet  lady-tongue.  Then 
it  was  hiff  turn  to  read  and  be  corrected,  and   read  again  and 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  163 

be  again  corrected.  Another  half-hour  glided  awaj,  and  yet 
another.  But  it  must  be  confessed  he  made  good  use  of  the 
time  —  if  only  it  had  been  his  own  to  use  ;  for  at  the  end  of  it 
he  could  pronounce  Italian  very  tolerably, —  well  enough,  at 
least,  to  keep  him  from  fixing  errors  in  his  pronunciation, 
while  studying  the  language  alone.  Suddenly  he  came  to 
himself,  and  looked  up  as  from  a  dream.  Had  she  been  be- 
witching him  ?  He  Avas  in  Euphra's  room  —  alone  with  her. 
And  the  door  was  shut  —  hoAv  or  when  ?  And  —  he  looked 
at  his  watch  —  poor  little  Harry  had  been  waiting  his  return 
from  the  library  for  the  last  hour  and  a  half.  He  was  con- 
science-stricken. He  gathered  up  the  books  hastily,  thanked 
Euphra  in  the  same  hurried  manner,  and  left  the  room  with 
considerable  disquietude,  closing  the  door  very  gently,  almost 
guiltily,  behind  him. 

I  am  afraid  Euphra  had  been  perfectly  aware  that  he  knew^ 
nothing  about  Italian.  Did  she  see  her  own  eyes  shine  in  the 
mirror  before  her,  as  he  closed  the  door  ?  Was  she  in  love 
with  him,  then  ? 

When  Hugh  returned  with  the  Italian  books,  instead  of  the 
encyclopcedia  he  had  gone  to  seek,  he  found  Harry  sitting 
where  he  had  left  him,  with  his  arms  and  head  on  the  table, 
fast  asleep, 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  said  Hugh  to  himself;  but  he  could  not  help 
feeling  glad  he  was  asleep.  He  stole  out  of  the  room  again, 
passed  the  fatal  door  with  a  longing  pain,  found  the  "volume  of 
his  quest  in  the  library,  and,  returning  with  it,  sat  down  be- 
side Harry.     There  he  sat  till  he  awoke. 

When  he  did  awake  at  last,  it  was  almost  time  for  luncheon. 

The  shamefiiced  boy  was  exceedingly  penitent  for  what  waa 
no  fault,  while  Hugh  could  not  relieve  him  by  confessing  his. 
He  could  only  say  :  — 

'  '•  It  was  my  fault,  Harry  dear.  I  stayed  away  too  long. 
You  were  so  nicely  asleep  I  would  not  wake  you.  You  will 
not  need  a  siesta,  that  is  all." 

lie  was  ashamed  of  himself,  as  he  uttered  the  false  words  to 
the  true-hearted  child.  But  this,  alas  !  was  not  the  end  of  it 
all. 

Desirous  of  learning  the  language,  but  far  more  desirous  of 
commending  himself  to  Euphra,   Hugh  began  in  downright 


164  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

earnest.  That  very  evening,  he  felt  that  he  had  a  little  hold 
of  the  language.  Ilarry  was  left  to  liis  own  resources.  Nor 
was  there  any  harm  in  this  in  itself  Hugh  had  a  right  to  part 
of  every  day  for  his  own  uses.  But  then,  he  had  been  with 
Ilarry  almost  every  evening,  or  a  great  part  of  it,  and  the  boy 
missed  him  much ;  for  he  was  not  yet  self-dependent.  He 
would  have  gone  to  Euphrasia,  but  somehow  she  happened  to 
be  engaged  that  evening.  So  he  took  refuge  in  the  library, 
whfere,  in  the  desolation  of  his  spirit,  "  Polexander  "  began, 
almost  immediately,  to  exercise  its  old  dreary  fascination  upon 
him.  Although  he  had  not  opened  the  book  since  Hugh  had 
requested  him  to  put  it  away,  yet  he  had  not  given  up  the  in- 
tention of  finishing  it  some  day ;  and  now  he  took  it  down,  and 
opened  it  listlessly,  with  the  intention  of  doing  something 
towards  the  gradual  redeeming  of  the  pledge  he  had  given  to 
himself  But  he  found  it  more  irksome  than  ever.  Still  he 
read  on ;  till  at  length  he  could  discover  no  meaning  at  all  in 
the  sentences.  Then  he  began  to  doubt  whether  he  had  read 
the  words.  He  fixed  his  attention  by  main  force  on  every  in- 
dividual word  ;  but  even  then  he  began  to  doubt  whether  he 
could  say  he  had  read  the  words,  for  he  might  have  missed 
seeing  some  of  the  letters  composing  each  word.  He  grew  so 
nervous  and  miserable  over  it,  almost  counting  every  letter, 
that  at  last  he  burst  into  tears,  and  threw  the  book  down. 

His  intellect,  which  in  itself  was  excellent,  was  quite  of  the 
parasitic  order,  requiring  to  wind  itself  about  a  stronger  intel- 
lect, to  keep  itself  in  the  region  of  fresh  air  and  possible 
growth.  Left  to  itself,  its  weak  stem  could  not  raise  it  above 
the  ground ;  it  would  grow  and  mass  upon  the  earth,  till  it 
decayed  and  corrupted,  for  lack  of  room,  light,  and  air.  But, 
of  course,  there  was  no  danger  in  the  mean  time.  This  was  but 
the  passing  sadness  of  an  occasional  loneliness. 

He  crept  to  Hugh's  room,  and  received  an  invitation  to  enter, 
in  answer  to  his  gentle  knock  ;  but  Hugh  Avas  so  absorbed  in 
his  new  study,  that  he  hardly  took  any  notice  of  him,  and 
Harry  found  it  almost  as  dreary  here  as  in  the  study.  He 
would  have  gone  out,  but  a  drizzling  rain  was  falling ;  and  he 
shrank  into  himself  at  the  thought  of  the  Ghost's  Walk.  The 
dinner-bell  was  a  welcome  summons. 

Hugh,  inspirited  by  the  reaction  from  close  attention,  by  the 


DAVID    ELGINEROD.  165 

presence  of  Euphra,  and  by  the  desire  to  make  himself  generally 
agreeable,  which  sprung  from  the  consciousness  of  having  done 
wrong,  talked  almost  brilliantly,  delighting  Euphra,  over- 
coming Harry  with  reverent  astonishment,  and  even  interesting 
slow  Mr.  Arnold.  With  the  latter  Hugh  had  been  gradually 
becoming  a  favorite ;  partly  because  he  had  discovered  in  him 
what  he  considered  high-minded  sentiments ;  for,  however  stupid 
and  conventional  Mr.  Arnold  might  be,  he  had  a  foundation  of 
sterling  worthiness  of  character.  Euphra,  instead  of  showing 
any  jealousy  of  this  growing  friendliness,  favored  in  every  way 
in  her  power,  and  now  and  then  alluded  to  it  in  her  conversa- 
tions with  Hugh,  as  affording  her  great  satisfaction. 

"I  am  so  glad  he  likes  you!*'  she  would  say. 

"Why  should  she  be  glad?  "  thought  Hugh. 

This  gentle  claim  of  a  kind  of  property  in  him  added  con- 
siderably to  the  strength  of  the  attraction  that  drew  him 
towards  her,  as  towards  the  centre  of  his  spii'itual  gravitation  ;  ' 
if  indeed  that  could  be  called  spiritual  which  had  so  little  of 
the  element  of  moral  or  spiritual  admiration,  or  even  approval, 
mingled  with  it.  He  never  felt  that  Euphra  was  good.  He 
only  felt  that  she  drew  him  with  a  vague  force  of  feminine 
sovereignty,  —  a  charm  which  he  could  no  more  resist  or  ex- 
plain, than  the  iron  could  the  attraction  of  the  loadstone. 
Neither  could  he  have  said,  had  he  really  considered  the 
matter,  that  she  was  beautiful  —  only  that  she  often,  very  often, 
looked  beautiful.  I  suspect  if  she  had  been  rather  ugly,  it 
would  have  been  all  the  same  to  Hugh, 

He  pursued  his  Italian  studies  with  a  singleness  of  aim  and 
eifort  that  carried  him  on  rapidly.  He  asked  no  assistance 
from  Euphra,  and  said  nothing  to  her  about  his  progress.  But 
he  was  so  absorbed  in  it,  that  it  drew  him  still  further  from  his 
pupil.  Of  course  he  went  out  with  him,  walking  or  riding 
every  day  that  the  weather  would  permit ;  and  he  had  regular 
school-hours  with  him  within  doors.  But  during  the  latter, 
while  Harry  was  doing  something  on  his  slate,  or  writing,  or 
learning  some  lesson  (which  kind  of  work  happened  oftener 
now  than  he  could  have  approved  of),  he  would  take  up  his 
Italian  ;  and,  notwithstanding  Harry's  quiet  hints  that  he  had 
finished  what  had  been  set  him,  remain  buried  in  it  for  a  long 
time.     When  he  woke  at  last  to  the  necessity  of  taking  some 


166  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

notice  of  the  boy,  he  would  only  appoint  him  something  else  to 
occupy  him  again,  so  as  to  leave  himself  free  to  follow  his  new 
bent.  Now  and  then  he  would  become  aware  of  his  blamable 
neglect,  and  make  a  feeble  struggle  to  rectify  what  seemed  to 
be  growing  into  a  habit,  and  one  of  the  worst  for  a  tutor;  but 
he  gradually  sank  back  into  the  mire,  for  mire  it  was,  comforting 
himself  with  the  resolution  that  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  read, 
Italian  without  absolutely  spelling  his  way,  he  would  let 
Euplira  see  what  progress  he  had  made,  and  then  return  with 
renewed  energy  to  Harry's  education,  keeping  up  his  own  new 
accomplishment  by  more  moderate  exercise  therein.  It  must 
not  be  supposed,  however,  that  a  long  course  of  time  passed  in 
this  way.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  he  thought  he  might 
venture  to  request  Euphra  to  show  him  the  passage  which  had 
perplexed  her.  This  time  he  knew  where  she  was,  —  in  her 
own  room  ;  for  his  mind  had  begun  to  haunt  her  ivhereahouts. 
He  knocked  at  her  door,  heard  the  silvery,  thrilling,  happy 
sound,   "  Come  in,"  and  entered  trembling. 

"Would  you  show  me  the  passage  in  Dante  that  perplexed 
you  the  other  day  ?  " 

Euphra  looked  a  little  surprised ;  but  got  the  book  and 
pointed  it  out  at -once. 

Hugh  glanced  at  it.  His  superior  acquaintance  with  the 
general  forms  of  language  enabled  him,  after  finding  two  words 
in  Euphra' s  larger  dictionary,  to  explain  it,  to  her  immediate 
satisfaction. 

"You  astonish  me,"  said  Euphra. 

"Latin  gives  me  an  advantage,  you  see,"  said  Hugh, 
modestly. 

"  Its  seems  to  me  very  wonderful,  nevertheless." 

These  were  sweet  sounds  to  Hugh's  ear.  He  had  gained  his 
end.     And  she  hers. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  have  just  come  upon  another  passage 
that  perplexes  me  not  a  little.  Will  you  try  your  powers 
upon  that  for  me  ?  " 

So  saying,  she  proceeded  to  find  it, 

"It  is  school-time,"  said  Hugh,  "  I  fear  I  must  not  wait 
now." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  Don't  make  a  pedagogue  of  yourself.  You 
know  you  are  here  more  as  a  guardian  —  big  brother,  you 


DAVID   ELBINBROD.  167 

know  —  to  the  dear  child.  Bj  the  way,  I  am  rather  afraid 
you  are  working  him  a  little  more  than  his  constitution  will 
stand." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  returned  Hugh,  quite  willing  to  be 
convinced.      "  I  should  be  very  sorry." 

"This  is  the  passage,"  said  Euphra. 

Hugh  sat  down  once  more  at  the  table  beside  her.  He 
found  this  morsel  considerably  tougher  than  the  last.  But  at 
length  he  succeeded  in  pulling  it  to  pieces  and  reconstructing 
it  in  a  simpler  form  for  the  lady.  She  was  full  of  thanks  and 
admiration.  Naturally  enough,  they  went  on  to  the  next  line, 
and  the  next  stanza,  and  the  next,  and  the  next ;  till  —  shall  I 
be  believed?  —  they  had  read  a  whole  canto  of  the  poem. 
Euphra  knew  more  words  by  a  great  many  than  Hugh ;  so 
that,  what  with  her  knowledge  of  the  words,  and  his  insight 
into  the  construction,  they  made  rare  progress. 

"  What  a  beautiful  passage  it  is  !  "'  said  Euphra. 

"It  is  indeed,"  responded  Hugh  ;  "I  never  read  anything 
more  beautifal." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  would  be  possible  to  turn  that  into  English. 
I  should  like  to  try." 

"  You  mean  verse,  of  course  ?" 

"  To  be  sure." 

"  Let  us  try,  then.  I  will  bring  you  mine  when  I  have 
finished  it.  I  fear  it  will  take  some  time,  though,  to  do  it  well. 
Shall  it  be  in  blank  verse,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  don't  you  think  we  had  better  keep  the  Terza  Rima 
of  the  original  ?  " 

"  As  you  please.     It  Avill  add  much  to  the  difficulty." 

"Recreant  knight!  will  you  shrink  from  following  where 
your  lady  leads  ?  ' ' 

"  Never  !  so  help  me,  my  good  pen  !  "  answered  Hugh,  and 
took  his  departure,  with  burning  cheeks  and  a  trembling  at  the 
heart.  Alas  !  the  morning  was  gone.  Harry  was  not  in  his 
^tudy.  He  sought  and  found  him  in  the  library,  apparently 
buried  in  "  Polexander." 

"I  am  so  glad  your  are  come,"  said  Harry;  "  I  am  so 
tired." 

"  Why  do  you  read  that  stupid  book  then  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  you  know,  I  told  you." 


168  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"Tut!  tut!  nonsense  !  Put  it  away,"  said  Hugh,  his  dis- 
satisfaction with  himself  making  him  cross  with  Harry,  who 
felt,  in  consequence,  ten  times  more  desolate  than  before.  He 
could  not  understand  the  change. 

If  it  went  ill  before  with  the  hours  devoted  to  common 
labor,  it  went  worse  now.  Hugh  seized  every  gap  of  time, 
and  widened  its  margins  shamefully,  in  order  to  work  at  his 
translation.  He  found  it  very  difficult  to  render  the  Italian  in 
classical  and  poetic  English.  The  three  rhyming  words,  and 
the  mode  in  which  the  stanzas  are  looped  together,  added 
greatly  to  the  diflSculty.  Blank  verse  he  would  have  found 
quite  easy  compared  to  this.  But  he  would  not  blench.  The 
thought  of  her  praise,  and  of  the  yet  better  favor  he  might 
gain,  spurred  him  on ;  and  Harry  was  the  sacrifice.  But  he 
would  make  it  all  up  to  him,  when  this  was  once  over.  In- 
deed he  would. 

Thus  he  baked  cakes  of  clay  to  choke  the  barking  of 
Cerberean  conscience.     But  it  would  growl  notwithstanding. 

The  boy's  spirit  was  sinking ;  but  Hugh  did  not^or  would  not 
see  it.  His  step  groAV  less  elastic.  He  became  more  listless, 
more  like  his  former  self,  —  sauntering  about  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets.  And  Hugh,  of  course,  found  himself  caring  less 
about  him ;  .for  the  thought  of  him,  rousing  as  it  did  the  sense 
of  his  own  neglect,  had  become  troublesome.  Sometimes  he 
even  passed  poor  Harry  without  speaking  to  him. 

Gradually,  however,  he  grew  still  further  into  the  favor  of 
Mr.  Arnold,  until  he  seemed  to  have  even  acquired  some  in- 
fluence with  him.  Mr.  Arnold  would  go  out  riding  with  them 
himself  sometimes,  and  express  great  satisfaction,  not  only  with 
the  way  Harry  sat  his  pony,  for  which  he  accorded  Hugh  the 
credit  due  to  him,  but  with  the  Avay  in  which  Hugh  managed 
his  own  horse  as  well.  Mr.  Arnold  was  a  good  horseman,  and 
his  praise  was  especially  grateful  to  Hugh,  because  Euphra 
was  always  near,  and  always  heard  it.  I  fear,  however,  that  his 
progress  in  the  good  graces  of  Mr.  Arnold  was,  in  a  considerable 
degree,  the  result  of  the  greater  anxiety  to  please,  which 
sprung  from  the  consciousness  of  not  deserving  approbation. 
Pleasing  was  an  easy  substitute  for  well-doing.  Not  acceptable 
to  himself,  he  had  the  greater  desire  to  be  acceptable  to  others ; 
and  so  reflect  the  side-beams  of  a  false  approbation  on  himself, 


DAVID   ELaiNBROD.  X69 

—  who  needed  true  light  and  would  be  ill-provided  for  with 
anj  substitute.  For  a  man  who  is  received  as  a  millionnaire 
can  hardly  help  feeling  like  one  at  times,  even  if  he  knows  he 
has  overdrawn  his  banker's  account.  The  necessity  to  Hugh's 
nature  of /eel ing  right  drove  him  to  this  false  mode  of  pro- 
ducing the  false  impression.  If  one  only  wants  to  feel  virtuous, 
there  are  several  royal  roads  to  that  end.  But,  fortunately, 
the  end  itself  would  be  unsatisfactory  if  gained  ;  while  not  one 
of  these  roads  does  more  than  pretend  to  lead  even  to  that  land 
of  delusion. 

The  reaction  in  Husrh's  mind  was  sometimes  torturing 
enough.  But  he  had  not  strength  to  resist  Euphra,  and  so 
reform. 

Well  or  ill  done,  at  length  his  translation  was  finished.  So 
was  Euphra's.  They  exchanged  papers  for  a  private  reading 
first ;  and  arranged  to  meet  afterwards,  in  order  to  compare- 
criticisms. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    FIRST   MIDNIGHT. 

Well,  if  anything  be  damned, 
It  will  be  twelve  o'clock  at  night ;  that  twelve 
Will  never  scape. 

CrRiL  ToTJRNEUR.  —  The  Revenger's  Tragedy. 

Letters  arrived  at  Arnstead  generally  while  the  family  was 
seated  at  breakfast.  One  morning,  the  post-bag  having  been 
brought  in,  Mr.  Arnold  opened  it  himself,  according  to  his  un- 
varying custom  ;  and  found,  amongst  other  letters,  one  in  an 
old-fashioned  female  hand,  which,  after  reading  it,  he  passed  to 
Euphra. 

"  You  remember  Mrs.  Elton,  Euphra  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  uncle,  —  a  dear  old  lady  !  " 

But  the  expression  which  passed  across  her  face  rather 
belied  her  words,  and  seemed  to  Hugh  to  mean,  ' '  I  tope  she 
is  not  going  to  bore  us  again." 


170  DAVID    ELGI-NBROD. 

She  took  care,  however,  to  show  no  sign  with  regard  to  the 
contents  of  the  letter ;  but,  hijing  it  beside  her  on  tlie  table, 
waited  to  hear  her  uncle's  mind  first. 

"  Poor,  dear  girl  !  "  said  he  at  last.  "You  must  try  to 
make  her  as  comfortable  as  you  can.  There  is  consumption  in 
the  family,  you  see,"  he  added,  with  a  meditative  sigh. 

"  Of  course  I  will,  uncle.  Poor  girl  !  I  hope  there  is  not 
much  amiss  though,  after  all." 

But,  as  she  spoke,  an  irrepressible  flash  of  dislike,  or  dis- 
pleasure of  some  sort,  broke  from  her  eyes,  and  vanished.  No 
one  but  himself  seemed  to  Hugh  to  have  observed  it ;  but  he 
was  learned  in  the  lady's  eyes,  and  their  weatlier-signs.  Mr. 
Arnold  rose  from  the  table  and  left  the  room,  apparently  to 
write  an  answer  to  the  letter.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Euphra 
gave  the  letter  to  Hugh.     He  read  as  follows:  — 

"My  dear  Mr.  Arxoi.d:  Will  3'ou  extend  the  hospitality  of  your 
beautiful  house  to  me  and  my  yountj  friend,  who  has  the  honor  of  being 
3'our  relative,  Lady  Emily  Lake  ?  For  some  time  her  health  has  seemed 
to  be  failing,  and  she  is  ordered  to  spend  the  winter  abroad,  at  Pan,  or 
somewhere  in  the  South  of  France.  It  is  considered  highly  desirable 
that  in  the  mean  time  she  should  have  as  much  change  as  possible  ;  and 
it  occurred  to  me,  remembering  tlie  charming  month  I  passed  at  your 
seat,  and  recalling  the  fact  that  Lady  Emily  is  cousin  only  once  removed 
to  j'our  late  most  lovely  Vv'ife,  that  there  would  be  no  impropriety  in 
wanting  to  ask  you  whether  you  could,  without  inconvenience,  receive 
us  as  your  guests  for  a  short  time.  I  say  us  ;  for  the  dear  girl  has  taken 
such  a  fancy  to  unworthy  old  me,  that  she  almost  refuses  to  set  out 
without  me.  Not  to  be  cumbersome  either  to  our  friends  or  ourselves, 
we  shall  bring  only  our  two  maids,  and  a  steady  old  man-servant, 
who  has  been  in  my  family  for  many  years.  I  trust  you  will  not 
hesitate  to  I'efuse  my  request,  should  I  happen  to  have  made  it  at  an 
unsuitable  season ;  assured,  as  you  must  be,  that  we  cannot  attribute 
the  refusal  to  any  lack  of  hospitality  or  friendliness  on  your  part.  At 
all  events,  I  trust  you  will  excuse  what  seems  —  now  I  have  committed 
it  to  paper —  a  great  liberty,  I  hope  not  presumption,  on  mine.  I  am, 
my  dear  Mr.  Arnold, 

"  Yours  most  sincerely, 

"Hannah  Elton." 

Hugh  refolded  the  letter,  and  laid  it  down  without  remark. 
Harry  had  left  the  room. 

"  Isn't  it  a  bore?  "  said  Euphra. 

Hugh  answered  only  by  a  look.     A  pause  followed. 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  Elton?"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Oh,  a  good-hearted  creature  enough.     Frightfully  prosy." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  171 

"  But  that  is  a  well-written  letter?  " 

"Ob,  yes.  She 'is  famed  for  her  letter-writing;  and,  I 
beli'jve,  practises  every  morning  on  a  slate.  It  is  the  only 
thing  that  redeems  her  from- absolute  stupidity." 

Euphra,  with  her  taper  forefinger,  tapped  the  tablecloth 
impatiently,  and  shifted  back  in  her  chair,  as  if  struggling 
with  an  inward  annoyance. 

"  And  what  sort  of  person  is  Lady  Emily  ?  "  asked  Hugh. 

"  I  have  never  seen  her.  Some  blue-eyed  milkmaid  with 
a  title,  I  suppose.  And  in  a  consumption  too  !  I  presume 
the  dear  girl  is  as  religious  as  the  old  one.  Good  heavens  ! 
what  slicdl  we  do  ?  "  she  burst  out  at  length ;  and,  rising  from 
her  chair,  she  paced  about  the  room  hurriedly,  but  all  the 
time  with  a  gliding  kind  of  footfall,  that  would  have  shaken 
none  but  the  craziest  floor. 

' '  Dear  Euphra  ! ' '  Hugh  ventured  to  say,  ' '  never  mind. 
Let  us  try  to  make  the  best  of  it.'" 

She  stopped  in  her  walk,  turned  towards  him,  smiled  as  if 
ashamed  and  delighted  at  the  same  moment,  and  slid  out  of  the 
room.  Had  Euphra  been  the  same  all  through,  she  could 
hardly  have  smiled  so  without  being  in  love  with  Hugh. 

That  morning  he  sought  her  again  in  her  room.  They 
talked  over  their  versions  of  Dante.  Hugh's  was  certainly 
the  best,  for  he  was  more  practised  in  such  things  than 
Euphra.  He  showed  her  many  faults,  which  she  at  once  per- 
ceived to  be  faults,  and  so  rose  in  his  estimation.  But  at  the 
same  time  there  were  individual  lines  and  passages  of  hers, 
which  he  considered  not  merely  better  than  the  corresponding 
lines  and  passages,  but  better  than  any  part  of  his  version. 
This  he  was  delighted  to  say ;  and  she  seemed  as  delighted 
that  he  should  think  so.  A  great  part  of  the  morning  was 
spent  thus. 

"  I  cannot  stay  longer,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Let  us  read  for  an  hour,  then,  after  we  come  upstairs  to- 
night." 

"  With  more  pleasure  than  I  dare  to  say." 

"  But  you  mean  what  you  do  say?  "  . 

"  You  can  doubt  it  no  more  than  myself" 

Yet  he  did  not  like  Euphra' s  making  the  proposal.  No 
more  did  he  like  the  flippant,  almost  cruel  way  in  which  she 


172  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

referroi  to  Lady  Emily's  illness.  But  he  put  it  down  tc  an- 
noyance and  haste ;  got  over  it  somehow — anjdiow  ;  and  be- 
gan to  feel  that  if  she  were  a  devil  he  could  not  help  loving 
her,  and  would  not  help  it  if  he  could.  The  hope  of  meeting 
her  alone  that  night  gave  him  S{)int  and  energy  with  Ilarry; 
and  the  poor  boy  was  more  cheery  and  active  than  he  had 
been  for  some  time.  He  thought  his  big  brother  was  going 
to  love  him  again  as  at  the  first.  Hugh's  treatment  of  his  pu- 
pil might  still  have  seemed  kind  from  another,  but  Harry  felt 
it  a  great  change  in  him. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  Euphra  took  an  opportunity  of 
whispering  to  him  :  — 

"Not  in  my  room  —  in  the  library."  I  presume  she 
thought  it  would  be  more  prudent,  in  the  case  of  any  interrup- 
tion. 

After  dinner  that  evening  Hu2;h  did  not  go  to  the  drawing- 
room  with  Mr.  Arnold,  but  out  into  the  woods  about  the  house. 

It  was  early  in  the  twilight ;  for  now  the  sun  set  late.  The 
month  was  June;  and  even  a  rich,  dreamful,  rosy  even, —  the 
sleep  of  a  gorgeous  day.  "  It  Avas  like  the  soul  of  a  gracious 
woman,"  thought  Hugh,  charmed  into  a  lucid  interval  of  pas- 
sion by  the  loveliness  of  the  nature  around  him.  Stri^nge  to  tell, 
at  that  moment,  instead  of  the  hushed  gloom  of  the  library, 
towards  which  he  was  hoping  and  leaning  in  his  soul,  there 
arose  before  him  the  bare,  stern,  leafless  pine-wood,  —  for  who 
can  call  its  foliage  leaves  ?  —  with  the  chilly  wind  of  a  north- 
ern spring  morning  blowing  through  it  with  a  wailing  noise  of 
waters  ;  and  beneath  a  weird  fir-tree,  lofty,  gaunt,  and  huge, 
with  bare  goblin  arms,  contorted  sweepily,  in  a  strange  ming- 
ling of  the  sublime  and  the  grotesque,  —  beneath  this  fir-tree, 
Margaret  sitting  on  one  of  its  twisted  roots,  the  very  image  of 
peace,  with  a  face  that  seemed  stilled  by  the  unexpected  ap- 
proach of  a  sacred  and  unknown  gladness,  —  a  face  that  would 
blossom  the  more  gloriously  because  its  joy  delayed  its  com- 
ing. And  above  it,  the  tree  shone  a  "  still,"  almost  '•  awful 
red,"  in  the  level  lischt  of  the  mornins;. 

The  vision  came  and  passed,  for  he  did  not  invite  its  stay ; 
it  rebuked  him  to  the  deepest  soul.  He  strayed  in  troubled 
pleasure,  restless  and  dissatisfied.  Woods  of  the  richest 
growth  were  around  him ;  heaps  on  heaps  of  leaves  floating 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  173 

above  him  like  clouds,  a  trackless  wilderness  of  airy  green, 
wherein  one  might  wish  to  dwell  forever,  looking  down  into 
the  vaults  and  aisles  of  the  long-ranging  boles  beneath.  But 
no  peace  could  rest  on  his  face  ;  only,  at  best,  a  false  mask, 
put  on  to  hide  the  trouble  of  the  unresting  heart.  Had  he 
been  doing  his  duty  to  Harry,  his  love  for  Euphra,  however 
unwortliy  she  might  be,  would  not  have  troubled  him  thus. 

He  came  upon  an  avenue.  At  the  further  end  the  boughs 
of  the  old  trees,  bare  of  leaves  beneath,  met  in  a  perfect  pointed 
arch,  across  which  were  barred  the  lingering  colors  of  the 
sunset,  transforming  the  whole  into  a  rich  window  full  of 
stained  glass  and  complex  tracery,  closing  up  a  Gothic  aisle 
in  a  temple  of  everlasting  worship.  A  kind  of  holy  calm  fell 
upon  him  as  he  regarded  the  dim,  dying  colors ;  and  the  spirit 
of  the  night,  a  something  that  is  neither  silence  nor  sound, 
and  yet  is  like  both,  sank  into  his  soul,  and  made  a  moment 
of  summer  twilio;ht  there.  He  walked  alon^T  the  avenue  for 
some  distance;  and  then,  leaving  it,  passed  on  through  the 
woods.  Suddenly  it  flashed  upon  him  that  he  had  crossedr  the 
Ghost's  Walk.  A  slight  but  cold  shudder  passed  through  the 
region  of  his  heart.  Then  he  laughed  at  himself,  and,  as  il 
were  in  despite  of  his  own  tremor,  turned,  and  crossed  yei 
again  the  path  of  the  ghost. 

A  spiritual  epicure  in  his  pleasures,  he  would  not  spoil  the 
effect  of  the  coming  meeting,  by  seeing  Euphra  in  the  drawing- 
room  first;  he  went  to  his  own  study,  where  he  remained  till 
the  hour  had  nearly  arrived.  He  tried  to  write  some  verses. 
But  he  found  that,  although  the  lovely  form  of  its  own  Naiad  lay 
on  the  brink  of  the  Well  of  Song,  its  waters  would  not  flow : 
during  the  sirocco  of  passion,  its  springs  Avithdraw  into  the 
cool  caves  of  the  Life  beneath.  At  length  he  rose,  too  much 
preoccupied  to  mind  his  want  of  success ;  and,  going  down 
the  back  stair,  reached  the  library.  There  he  seated  himself, 
and  tried  to  read  by  the  light  of  his  chamber-candle.  Bn.t  it 
was  scarcely  even  an  attempt,  for  every  moment  he  was  look- 
ing up  to  the  door  by  which  he  expected  her  to  enter. 

Suddenly  an  increase  of  light  warned  him  that  she  was  in 
the  room.  How  she  had  entered  he  could  not  tell.  One 
hand  carried  her  candle,  the  light  of  which  fell  on  her  pale 
face,  with  its  halo  of  blackness ;  her  hair,  which  looked  like 


174  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

a  well  of  darkness,  that  threatened  to  break  from  its  bonds  and 
overflood  the  room  with  a  second  night,  dark  enough  to  blot 
out  that  which  was  now  looking  in,  treeful  and  deep,  at  the 
uncurtained  windows.  The  other  hand  was  busy  trying  to  in- 
carcei-ate  a  stray  tress  which  had  escaped  from  its  net,  and 
made  her  olive  shoulders  look  white  beside  it. 

"  Let  it  alone,"  said  Hugh  ;    "  let  it  be  beautiful." 

But  she  gently  repelled  the  hand  he  raised  to  hers,  and, 
though  she  was  forced  to  put  down  her  candle  first,  persisted 
in  confining  the  refractory  tress  ;  then  seated  herself  at  the 
table,  and  taking  from  her  pocket  the  manuscript  which  Hugh 
had  been  criticising  in  the  morning,  unfolded  it,  and  showed 
him  all  the  passages  he  had  objected  to  neatly  corrected  or  al- 
tered. It  was  wonderfully  done  for  the  time  she  had  had. 
He  went  over  it  all  with  her  again,  seated  close  to  her,  their 
faces  almost  meeting  as  tliey  followed  the  lines.  They  had 
just  finished  it,  and  were  about  to  commence  reading  from  the 
original,  when  Hugh,  who  missed  a  sheet  of  Euphra's  trans- 
lation, stooped  under  the  table  to  look  for  it.  A  few  moments 
were  spent  in  search,  before  he  discovered  that  Euphra's  foot 
was  upon  it.  He  begged  her  to  move  a  little,  but  received  no 
reply  either  by  word  or  act.  Looking  up  in  some  alarm,  he 
saw  that  she  was  either  asleep  or  in  a  faint.  By  an  impulse 
inexplicable  to  himself  at  the  time,  he  went  at  once  to  the 
windows,  and  drew  down  the  green  blinds.  When  he  turned 
towards  her  again,  she  was  reviving  or  awaking,  he  could  not 
tell  which. 

"  How  stupid  of  me  to  go  to  sleep  !  "  she  said.  "  Let  us 
go  on  with  our  reading. ' ' 

They  had  read  for  about  half  an  hour,  when  three  taps  upon 
one  of  the  windows,  slight,  but  peculiar,  and  as  if  given  with 
the  point  of  a  finger,  suddenly  startled  them.  Hugh  turned 
at  once  towards  the  Avindows ;  but,  of  course,  he  could  see 
nothing,  having  just  lowered  the  blinds.  He  turned  again 
towards  Euphra.  She  had  a  strange,  wild  look  ;  her  lips  were 
slightly  parted,  and  her  nostrils  wide  ;  her  face  was  rigid,  and 
glimmering  pale  as  death  from  the  cloud    of  her  black  hair. 

•'  What  was  it?  "  said  Hugh,  affected  by  her  fear  with  the 
horror  of  the  unknown.  But  she  made  no  answer,  and  con- 
tinued staring  towards  one  of  the  windows.     He  rose  and  waa 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  175 

about  to  advance  to  it,  when  she  caught  him  by  the  hand  with 
a  grasp  of  which  hers  would  have  been  incapable  except  under 
the  influence  of  terror.  At  that  moment  a  clock  in  the  room 
began  to  strike.  It  was  a  slow  clock,  and  went  on  deliberate- 
ly, striking  one  .  .  .  two  .  .  .  three  .  .  .  till  it  had  struck 
twelve.  Every  stroke  Avas  a  bloAV  from  the  hammer  of  fear, 
and  his  heart  was  the  bell.  He  could  not  breathe  for  dread  so 
long  as  the  awful  clock  was  striking.  When  it  had  ended, 
they  looked  at  each  other  again,  and  Hugh  breathed  once. 

"Euphra  !  "  he  sighed. 

But  she  made  no  answer ;  she  turned  her  eyes  again  to  one 
of  the  windows.  They  were  both  standing.  He  sought  to 
draw  her  to  him,  but  she  yielded  no  more  than  a  marble  statue. 

"I  crossed  th6  Ghost's  Walk  to-night,"  said  he,  in  a  hard 
whisper,  scarcely  knowing  that  he  uttered  it,  till  he  heard  his 
own  words.  They  seemed  to  fall  upon  his  ear  as  if  spoken  by 
some  one  outside  the  room.  She  looked  at  him  once  more,  an^. 
kept  looking  with  a  fixed  stare.  Gradually  her  face  became 
less  rigid,  and  her  eyes  less  wild.      She  could  move  at  last. 

"Come,  come,'  she  said,  in  a  hurried  whisper.  "Let  us 
go  —  no,  no,  not  that  way  ;  "  —  as  Hugh  Avould  have  led  her 
towards  the  private  stair,  —  "let  us  go  the  front  way,  by  the 
oak  staircase." 

They  went  up  together.  When  they  reached  the  door  of 
her  room,  she  said,  "  Good-niglit,"  without  even  looking  at 
him,  and  passed  in.  Hugh  went  on,  in  a  state  of  utter  be- 
Avilderment,  to  his  own  apartment ;  shut  the  door  and  locked 
it,  —  a  thing  he  had  never  done  before  :  lighted  both  the 
candles  on  his  table  ;  and  then  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
trying,  like  one  aware  that  he  is  dreaming,  to  come  to  his  real 
self. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  he  said  at  last.  "  It  was  only  a  little  bird,  or 
a  large  moth.  How  odd  it  is  that  darkness  can  make  a  fool  of 
one  !  I  am  ashamed  of  myself.  I  wish  I  had  gone  out  at  the 
Avindow,  if  only  to  show  Euphra  I  Avas  not  afraid,  though  of 
course  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen." 

As  he  said  this  in  his  mind,  —  he  could  not  have  spoken  it 
aloud,  for  fear  of  hearing  his  own  A^oice  in  the  solitude,  —  he 
Avent  to  one  of  the  Avindows  of  his  sitting-room,  Avliich  was 
nearly  oA^er  the  library,  and  looked  into  the  woo(l.      Could  it 


176  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

be  ?  —  Yes,  —  he  did  see  something  white,  gliding  through 
the  wood,  away  in  the  direction  of  the  Ghost's  Walk.  It 
vanished  ;  and  he  saw  it  no  more. 

The  morning  was  for  advanced  before  he  could  go  to  bed. 
When  the  first  light  of  the  aurora  broke  the  sky,  he  looked  out 
again ;  and  the  first  glimmerings  of  the  morning  in  the 
Avood  were  more  dreadful  than  the  deepest  darkness  of  the  past 
niglit.  Possessed  by  a  new  horror,  he  thought  how  awful  it 
would  be  to  see  a  belated  ghost,  hurrying  away  in  helpless 
haste.  The  spectre  would  be  yet  more  terrible  in  the  gray 
light  of  the  coming  day,  and  the  azure  breezes  of  the  morning, 
which  to  it  would  be  like  a  new  and  more  fearful  death,  than 
amidst  its  own  homely,  sepulchral  darkness  ;  while  tlie  silence 
all  around  —  silence  in  light  —  could  befit  only  that  dread 
season  of  loneliness  when  men  are  lost  in  sleep,  and  ghosts,  if 
they  walk  at  all,  walk  in  dismay. 

But  at  length  fear  yielded  to  sleep,  though  still  he  troubled 
her  short  reign. 

When  he  awoke,  he  found  it  so  late,  that  it  was  all  he  could 
do  to  get  down  in  time  for  breakfast.  But  so  anxious  was  ho 
not  to  be  later  than  usual,  that  he  was  in  the  room  before  Mr. 
Arnold  made  his  appearance.  Euphra,  however,  was  there  be- 
fore him.  She  greeted  him  in  the  usual  way,  quite  circum- 
spectly. But  she  looked  troubled.  Her  face  was  very  pale, 
and  her  eyes  were  red,  as  if  from  sleeplessness  or  weeping. 
When  her  uncle  entered,  she  addressed  him  with  more  gayety 
than  usual,  and  he  did  not  perceive  that  anything  was  amiss 
with  her.  But  the  whole  of  that  day  she  walked  as  in  a 
reverie,  avoiding  Hugh  two  or  three  times  that  they  chanced  to 
meet  without  a  third  person  in  the  neighborhood.  Once  iu 
the  forenoon  —  when  she  was  generally  to  be  fouad  in  her 
room  —  he  could  not  refrain  from  trying  to  see  her.  The 
change  and  the  mystery  were  insupportable  to  him.  But 
when  he  tapped  at  her  door,  no  answer  came  ;  and  he  walked 
back  to  Harry,  feeling  as  if,  by  an  unknown  door  in  his  own 
soul,  he  had  been  shut  out  of  the  half  of  his  being.  Or,  rather, 
a  wall  seemed  to  have  been  built  right  before  his  eyes, 
which  still  was  there  wherever  ho  went. 

As  to  the  gliding  phantom  of  the  previous  night,  the  day 
denieji  it  all,  telling  him  it  was  but  the  coinage  of  his  owu 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  177 

overwrought  brain,  weakened  by  prolonged  tension  of  the 
intellect,  and  excited  by  the  presence  of  Euphra  at  an  hour 
claimed  by  phantoms  when  not  yielded  to  sleep.  This  was  the 
easiest  and  most  natural  way  of  disposing  of  the  dijEculty. 
The  cloud  around  Euphra  hid  the  ghost  in  its  skirts. 

Althouo;h  fear  in  some  measure  returned  with  the  returnino: 
shadows,  he  yet  resolved  to  try  to  get  Euphra  to  meet  him 
again  in  the  library  that  night.  But  she  never  gave  him  a 
chance  of  even  dropping  a  hint  to  that  purpose.  She  had  not 
gone  out  with  them  in  the  morning  ;  and  when  he  followed  her 
into  the  drawing-room  she  was  already  at  the  piano.  He 
thought  he  might  convey  his  wish  without  interrupting  the 
music ;  but  as  often  as  he  approached  her  she  broke,  or  rather 
glided,  out  into  song,  as  if  she  had  been  singing  in  an  under- 
tone all  the  while.  He  could  not  help  seeing  she  did  not 
intend  to  let  him  speak  to  her.  But,  all  the  time,  whatever 
she  sang  was  something  she  knew  he  liked ;  and  as  often  as  she 
spoke  to  him  in  the  hearing  of  her  uncle  or  cousin,  it  was  in  a 
manner  peculiarly  graceful  and  simple. 

He  could  not  understand  her ;  and  was  more  bewitched, 
more  fascinated  than  ever,  by  seeing  her  through  the  folds  of  the 
incomprehensible,  in  which  element  she  had  wrapped  herself 
from  his  nearer  vision.  She  had  always  seemed  above  him ; 
now  she  seemed  miles  away  as  well;  a  region  of  Paradise  into 
which  he  was  forbidden  to  enter.  Everything  about  her,  to 
her  handkerchief  and  her  gloves,  was  haunted  by  a  vague 
mystery  of  worshipfulness,  and  drew  him  towards  it  with 
wonder  and  trembling.  When  they  parted  for  the  night,  she 
shook  hands  with  him  with  a  cool  frankness  that  put  him 
nearly  beside  himself  with  desjmir:  and  when  he  found  himself 
in  his  own  room,  it  was  some  time  before  he  could  collect  his 
thoughts.  Having  succeeded,  however,  he  resolved,  in  spite 
of  growing  fears,  to  go  to  the  library,  and  see  whether  it  were 
not  possible  she  might  be  there.  He  took  up  a  candle,  and 
went  down  the  back  stair.  But  when  he  opened  the  library 
door,  a  gust  of  wind  blew  his  candle  out;  all  was  darkness 
within.  A  sudden  horror  seized  him;  and,  afraid  of  yielding  to 
the  inclination  to  bound  up  the  stair,  lest  he  should  go  wild 
with  the  terror  of  pursuit,  he  crept  slowly  back,  feeling  his  way 
to  his  own  room  with  a  determined  deliberateness.      Could  the 

12 


178  PAVID    ELGINBROD. 

library  window  have  been  left  open  ?     Else  whence  the  gust 
of  wind  ? 

Next  day,  and  tlie  next,  and  the  next,  he  fired  no  better; 
her  behavior  continued  the  same  ;  and  she  allowed  him  no 
opportunity  of  requesting  an  explanation. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

A    SUNDAY. 

A  man  may  bo  a  heretic  in  the  truth;  and  if  he  believe  things  only  because  his 
pastor  says  so,  or  the  assembly  so  determines,  witliout  knowing  other  reason, 
though  his  belief  bo  true,  yet  the  very  truth  he  holds  becomes  his  heresy.  — 
Milton.  —  Areopayitica. 

At  length  the  expected  visitors  arrived.  Hugh  saw  noth- 
ing of  them  till  they  assembled  for  dinner.  Mrs.  Elton  was  a 
benevolent  old  lady,  —  not  old  enough  to  give  in  to  being  old, 
—  rather  tall,  and  rather  stout,  in  rich  widow-costume,  whose 
depth  had  been  moderated  by  time.  Iler  kindly  gray  eyes 
looked  out  from  a  calm  face,  which  seemed  to  have  taken  com- 
fort from  loving  everybody  in  a  mild  and  moderate  fxshion. 
Lady  Emily  was  a  slender  girl,  rather  shy,  with  fair  hair,  and 
a  pale,  innocent  face.  She  wore  a  violet  dress,  which  put  out 
her  blue  eyes.  She  showed  to  no  advantage  beside  the  sup- 
jjresscd  glow  of  life  which  made  Euphra  look  like  a  tropical 
twilight.  I  am  aware  there  is  no  such  thing,  but,  if  there 
were,  it  would  be  just  like  her. 

Mrs.  Elton  seemed  to  have  concentrated  the  motherhood  of 
her  nature,  which  was  her  most  prominent  characteristic,  not- 
withstanding—  or  perhaps  in  virtue  of — her  childlessness, 
upon  Lady  Emily.  To  her  Mrs.  Elton  was  solicitously  atten- 
tive ;  and  she,  on  her  part,  received  it  all  sweetly  and  grate- 
fully, taking  no  umbrage  at  being  treated  as  more  of  an 
invalid  than  she  was. 

Lady  Emily  ate  nothing  but  chicken,  and  custard-pudding 
or  rice,  all  the  time  she  was  at  Arnstead. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  179 

The  richer  and  more  seasoned  any  dish,  the  more  grateful 
it  was  to  Euphra. 

]\Ir.  Arnold  was  a  saddle-of-mutton  man. 

Hugh  preferred  roast  beef,  but  ate  anything. 

"  What  sort  of  a  clergyman  have  you  now,  Mr.  Arnold?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Elton,  at  the  dinner-table. 

"  Oh  !  a  very  respectable  young  gentleman,  brother  to  Sir 
Richard,  who  has  the  gift,  you  know.  A  very  moderate,  ex- 
cellent clergyman  he  makes  too  !  ' ' 

"Ah!  but  you  know.  Lady  Emily  and  I" — here  she 
looked  at  Lady  Emily,  who  smiled  and  blushed  faintly —  "are 
very  dependent  on  our  Sundays,  and  —  " 

'•  We  all  go  to  church  regularly,  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Elton; 
and  of  course  my  carriage  shall  be  always  at  your  disposal." 

"  I  was  in  no  doubt  about  either  of  those  things,  indeed,  Mr. 
Arnold.     But  what  sort  of  a  preacher  is  he  ?  " 

"  Ah,  well !  let  me  see.  AVhat  was  the  subject  of  his  ser- 
mon last  Sunday,  Euphra,  my  dear?" 

"The  devil  and  all  his  angels,"  answered  Euphra.  with  a 
wicked  flash  in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  so  it  was.  Oh,  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Elton,  he  is 
quite  a  respectable  preacher,  as  well  as  a  clergyman.  He  is 
an  honor  to  the  cloth." 

Hugh  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  tailor  should  have 
his  due,  and  that  Mr.  Arnold  gave  it  him. 

"He  is  no  Puseyite  either,"  added  Mr.  Arnold,  seeing  but 
not  understanding  Mrs.  Elton's  baffled  expression,  "though  he 
does  preach  once  a  month  in  his  surplice." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  him  very  original  though," 
eaid  Hugh,  wishing  to  help  the  old  lady. 

"  Original !  "  interposed  Mr.  Arnold.  "  Really,  I  am  bound 
to  say  I  don't  knoAv  how  the  remark  applies.  How  is  a  man 
to  be  original  on  a  subject  that  is  all  laid  down  in  plain  print, 
—  to  use  a  vulgar  expression. —  and  has  been  commented  upon 
for  eighteen  hundred  years  and  more  ?  " 

"Very  true,  Mr.  Arnold,"  responded  Mrs.  Elton.  "We 
don't  want  originality,  do  we  ?  It  is  only  the  gospel  we  want. 
Does  he  preach  the  gospel  ?  " 

"  How  can  he  preach  anything  else?  His  text  is;  always 
out  of  some  part  of  the  Bible." 


180  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  hold  by  the  inspiration  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, Mr.  Arnold,"  said  Mrs.  Elton,  chaotically  bewildered. 

"Good  heavens!  Madam,  what  do  you  mean?  Could  you 
for  a  moment  suppose  me  to  be  an  atheist  ?  Surely  you  have 
not  become  a  student  of  German  Neology?  "  And  Mr.  Arnold 
smiled  a  grim  smile. 

"  Not  I,  indeed !  "  protested  poor  Mrs.  Elton,  moving  un- 
easily in  her  seat.     "  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Arnold." 

"Then  you  may  take  my  word  for  it,  that  you  will  hear 
nothing  but  what  is  highly  orthodox,  and  perfectly  worthy  of 
a  gentleman  and  a  clergyman,  from  the  pulpit  of  Mr.  Penfold. 
He  dined  with  us  only  last  week." 

This  last  assertion  was  made  in  an  injured  tone,  just  suffi- 
cient to  curl  the  tail  of  the  sentence.  After  which,  what  was 
to  be  said  ? 

Several  vain  attempts  followed,  before  a  new  subject  was 
started,  sufficiently  uninteresting  to  cause,  neither  from 
warmth  nor  stupidity,  any  damage  of  dissension^  and  quite 
worthy  of  being  here  omitted. 

Dinner  over,  and  the  ceremony  of  tea  —  in  Lady  Emily's 
case,  milk  and  water  —  having  been  observed,  the  visitors 
withdrew. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  Lady  Emily  came  downstairs 
in  black,  which  suited  her  better.  She  was  a  pretty,  gentle 
creature,  interesting  from  her  illness,  and  good  because  she 
knew  no  evil,  except  what  she  heard  of  from  the  pulpit.  They 
walked  to  church,  which  was  no  great  distance,  along  a 
meadow-path  paved  with  flags,  some  of  them  worn  through  by 
the  heavy  shoes  of  country  generations.  The  church  was  one 
of  those  which  are,  in  some  measure,  typical  of  the  Church 
itself;  for  it  was  very  old,  and  would  have  been  very  beauti- 
ful, had  it  not  been  all  plastered  over,  and  whitened  to  a 
smooth  uniformity  of  ugliness, —  the  attempt  having  been  more 
successful  in  the  case  of  the  type.  The  open  roof  had  had  a 
French  heaven  added  to  it,  —  I  mean  a  ceiling;  and  the  pil- 
lars, which,  even  if  they  were  not  carved — though  it  was  im- 
possible to  come  to  a  conclusion  on  that  point  —  must  yet  have 
been  worn  into  the  beauty  of  age,  had  been  filled  up,  and 
stained  with  yellow  ochre.  Even  tlie  renmants  of  stained  glass 
in  some  of  the  windows  were  half  concealed  by  modern  appli- 


DAVID    ELJINBROD.  181 

ances  for  the  part/al  exclusion  of  the  light.  The  church  had 
fared  as  Chaucer  in  the  hands  of  Dryden.  So  had  the  truth, 
that  flickered  through  the  sermon,  fared  in  the  hands  of  the 
clergyman,  or  of  the  sermon-wright  whose  manuscript  he  had 
bought  for  eighteen  pence  — I  am  told  that  sermons  are  to  be 
procured  at  that  price  —  on  his  last  visit  to  London.  Having, 
although  a  Scotchman,  had  an  Episcopalian  education,  Hugh 
could  not  help  rejoicing  that  not  merely  the  Bible,  but  the 
church- service  as  well,  had  been  fixed  beyond  the  reach  of 
such  degenerating  influences  as  those  which  had  operated  on 
the  more  material  embodiments  of  religion;  for  otherwise  such 
would  certainly  have  been  the  first  to  operate,  and  would  have 
found  the  greatest  scope  in  any  alteration.  We  may  hope  that 
nothing  but  a  true  growth  in  such  religion  as  needs  and  seeks 
new  expression  for  new  depth  and  breadth  of  feeling,  will  ever 
be  permitted  to  lay  the  hand  of  change  upon  it,  —  a  hand, 
otherwise,  of  desecration  and  ruin. 

The  sermon  was  chiefly  occupied  with  proving  that  God  i? 
no  respecter  of  persons ;  a  mark  of  indubitable  condescension  in 
the  clergyman,  the  rank  in  society  which  he  could  claim  for 
himself  duly  considered.  But,  unfortunately,  the  church  was 
so  constructed  that  its  area  contained  three  platforms  of  posi- 
tion, actually  of  differing  level ;  the  loftiest,  in  the  chancel,  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  pulpit,  occupied  by  the  gentry ;  the  middle, 
opposite  the  pulpit,  occupied  by  the  tulip-beds  of  their  ser- 
vants ;  and  the  third,  on  the  left  of  the  pulpit,  occupied  by  the 
common  parishioners.  Unfortunately,  too,  by  the  perpetua- 
tion of  some  old  custom,  whose  significance  was  not  worn  out, 
all  on  the  left  of  the  pulpit  were  expected,  as  often  as  they 
stood  up  to  sing,  —  which  was  three  times,  —  to  turn  their 
backs  to  the  pulpit,  and  so  face  away  from  the  chancel  where 
the  gentry  stood.  But  there  was  not  much  inconsistency, 
after  all ;  the  sermon  founding  its  argument  chiefly  on  the 
antithetical' facts,  that  death,  lowering  the  rich  to  the  level  of 
the  poor,  was  a  dead  leveller ;  and  that,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  life  to  come  would  raise  the  poor  to  the  level  of  the  rich. 
It  was  a  pity  that  there  was  no  phrase  in  the  language  to 
justify  him  in  carrying  out  the  antithesis,  and  so  balancing 
his  sentence  like  a  rope-walker,  by  saying  that  life  was  a  live 
leveller.     The  sermon  ended  with  a  solemn  warning:    "  Those 


182  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

who  neglect  the  gospel-scheme,  and  never  think  of  death  and 
judgment, —  be  they  rich  or  poor,  be  thej  wise  or  ignorant, — 
•\viiether  they  dwell  in  the  palace  or  the  hut,  —  shall  be 
damned.  Glory  be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and  to  the 
Holy  Ghost,"  etc. 

Lady  Emily  was  forced  to  confess  that  she  had  not  been 
much  interested  in  the  sermon.  Mrs.  Elton  thought  he  spoke 
plainly,  but  there  was  not  much  of  the  gospel  in  it.  Mr. 
Arnold  opined  that  people  should  not  go  to  church  to  hear 
sermons,  but  to  make  the  responses ;  whoever  read  prayers,  it 
made  no  difference,  for  the  prayers  were  the  Church's,  not 
the  parson's;  and  for  the  sermon,  as  long  as  it  showed  the  un- 
educated how  to  be  saved,  and  taught  them  to  do  their  duty  in 
the  station  of  life  to  which  God  had  called  them,  and  so  lonoj 
as  the  parson  preached  neither  Puseyism  nor  Radicalism  — he 
frowned  solemnly  and  disgustedly  as  he  repeated  the  word — 
nor  Radicalism,  it  was  of  comparatively  little  moment  whether 
he  was  a  man  of  intellect  or  not,  for  he  could  not  m  wrons. 

Little  was  said  in  reply  to  this,  except  something  not  very 
audible  or  definite,  by  Mrs.  Elton,  about  the  necessity  of  faith. 
The  conversation,  which  took  place  at  luncheon,  flagged,  and 
the  visitors  withdrew  to  their  respective  rooms,  to  comfort 
themselves  with  their  Daily  Po7'tlons. 

At  dinner,  Mr.  Arnold,  evidently  believing  he  had  made  an 
impression  by  his  harangue  of  the  morning,  resumed  the  sub- 
ject. Hugh  was  a  little  surprised  to  find  that  he  had,  even  of 
a  negative  sort,  strong  opinions  on  the  subject  of  religion. 

"  What  do  you  think,  then,  Mrs.  Elton,  my  dear  madam, 
that  a  clergyman  ought  to  preach?  " 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Arnold,  that  he  ought  to  preach  salvation  by 
faith  in  the  merits  of  the  Saviour." 

"  Oh  !  of  course,  of  course.  We  shall  not  differ  about  that. 
Everybody  believes  that." 

"  I  doubt  it  very  much.  He  ought,  in  order  that  men  may 
believe,  to  explain  the  divine  plan,  by  which  the  demands  of 
divine  justice  are  satisfied,  and  the  punishment  due  to  sin 
averted  from  the  guilty,  and  laid  upon  the  innocent ;  that,  by 
bearing  our  sins,  he  might  make  atonement  to  the  wrath  of  a 
justly  offended  God  ;  and  so  —  " 

"Now,  my  dear  madam,  permit  me  to  ask  what  right  we, 


DAVID    ELG.TNBROD.  183 

the  subjects  of  a  Supreme  Authority,  have  to  inquire  into  the 
reasons  of  his  doings.  It  seems  to  me  —  I  should  be  soitj  to 
offend  any  one,  but  it  seems  to  me  quite  as  presumptuous  as 
the  present  arrogance  of  the  lower  classes  in  interfering  with 
government,  and  demanding  a  right  to  give  their  opinion,  for- 
sooth, as  to  the  laws  bj  which  they  shall  be  governed ;  as  if 
tliey  were  capable  of  understanding  the  principles  by  which 
kings  rule,  and  governors  decree  justice.  I  believe  I  quote 
Scripture." 

"  Are  we,  then,  to  remain  in  utter  ignorance  of  the  divine 
character  ?  ' ' 

' '  What  business  have  we  with  the  divine  character  ?  Or 
how  could  we  understand  it  ?  It  seems  to  me  we  have  enough 
to  do  with  our  own.  Do  I  inquire  into  the  character  of  my 
sovereign  ?  All  we  have  to  do  is,  to  listen  to  what  we  are 
told  by  those  who  are  educated  for  such  studies,  whom  the 
Church  approves,  and  who  are  appointed  to  take  care  of  the, 
souls  committed  to  their  charge  ;  to  teach  them  to  respect  their 
superiors,  and  to  lead  honest,  hard-working  lives." 

Much  more  of  the  same  sort  flowed  from  the  oracular  lips 
of  Mr.  Arnold.  When  he  ceased,  he  found  that  the  conversa- 
tion had  ceased  also.  As  soon  as  the  ladies  withdrew,  he  said, 
without  looking  at  Hugh,  as  he  filled  his  glass  :  — 

"  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  hate  cant." 

And  so  he  canted  against  it. 

But  the  next  day,  and  during  the  whole  week,  he  seemed  to 
lay  himself  out  to  make  amends  for  the  sharpness  of  his  remarks 
on  the  Sunday.  He  was~"  afraid  he  had  made  his  guests 
uncomfortable,  and  so  sinned  against  his  own  character  as  a 
host.  Everything  that  he  could  devise  was  brought  to  bear 
for  their  entertainment ;  daily  rides  in  the  open  carriage,  in 
which  he  always  accompanied  them,  to  show  his  estate,  and  the 
improvements  he  was  making  upon  it ;  visits  sometimes  to  the 
more  deserving,  as  he  called  them,  of  the  poor  upon  his 
property,  —  the  more  deserving  being  the  most  submissive  and 
obedient  to  the  wishes  of  their  lord ;  inspections  of  the  schools, 
etc.,  etc.  ;  in  all  of  Avhich  matters  he  took  a  stupid,  benevolent 
interest.  For  if  people  would  be  content  to  occupy  the  corner 
in  Avhich  he  chose  to  place  them,  he  would  throw  them  morsel 


184  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

after  morsel,  as  long  as  ever  they  chose  to  pick  it  up.  But 
woe  to  them  if  thej  left  this  corner  a  single  pace ! 

Euphra  made  one  of  the  party  always  ;  and  it  was  dreary 
indeed  for  Hugh  to  be  left  in  the  desolate  house  without  her, 
though  but  for  a  few  hours.  And  when  she  was  at  home,  she 
never  yet  permitted  him  to  speak  to  her  alone. 

There  might  ha-ve  been  some  hope  for  Harry  in  Hugh's 
separation  from  Euphra ;  but  the  result  was  that,  although  he 
spent  school-hours  more  regularly  with  him,  Hugh  was  yet 
more  dull  and  uninterested  in  the  work  than  he  had  been  be- 
fore. Instead  of  caring  that  his  pupil  should  understand  this 
or  that  particular,  he  would  be  speculating  on  Euphra's 
behavior,  trying  to  account  for  this  or  that  individual  look  or 
tone,  or  seeking,  perhaps,  a  special  symbolic  meaning  in  some 
general  remark  that  she  had  happened  to  let  fall.  Meanwhile, 
poor  Harry  would  be  stupefying  himself  with  work  which  he 
could  not  understand  for  lack  of  some  explanation  or  other  that 
ought  to  have  been  given  him  weeks  ago.  Still,  however,  he 
clung  to  Hugh  with  a  far-off,  worshipping  love,  never  suspect- 
ing that  he  could  be  to  blame,  but  thinking  at  one  time  that  he 
must  be  ill,  at  another  that  he  himself  was  really  too  stupid, 
and  that  his  big  brother  could  not  help  getting  tired  of  him. 
When  Hugh  would  be  wandering  about  the  place,  seeking  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  skirt  of  Euphra's  dress,  as  she  went  about 
with  her  guests,  or  devising  how  he  could  procure  an  interview 
with  her  alone,  Harry  would  be  following  him  at  a  distance, 
like  a  little  terrier  that  had  lost  its  master,  and  did  not  know 
whether  this  man  would  be  friendly  or-not;  never  spying  on  his 
actions,  but  merely  longing  to  be  near  him,  —  for  had  not  Hugh 
set  him  going  in  the  way  of  life,  even  if  he  had  now  left  him 
to  walk  in  it  alone  ?  If  Hugh  could  have  ,once  seen  into  that 
warm,  true,  pining  little  heart,  he  would  not  have  neglected  it 
as  he  did.     He  had  no  eyes,  however,  but  for  Euphra. 

Still,  it  may  be  that  even  now  Harry  was  able  to  gather, 
though  with  tears,  some  advantage  from  Hugh's  neglect.  He 
used  to  wander  about  alone  ;  and  it  may  be  that  the  hints 
which  his  tutor  had  already  given  him  enabled  him  now  to 
find  for  himself  the  interest  belonging  to  many  objects  never 
before  remarked.  Perhaps  even  now  he  began  to  take  a  few 
steps  alone;  tho  waking  independence  of  which  was  of  more 


DAVID   ELGINBROD,  185 

value  for  the  future  growth  of  his  nature  than  a  thousand 
miles  accomplished  bj  the  aid  of  the  strong  arm  of  his  "tutor. 
One  certain  advantage  was,  that  the  constitutional  trouble  of 
the  boy's  nature  had  now  assumed  a  definite  form,  bj  gathering 
around  a  definite  object,  and  blending  its  own  shadowy  being 
Avith  the  sorrow  he  experienced  from  the  loss  of  his  tutor's 
sympatliy.  Should  that  sorrow  ever  be  cleared  away,  much 
besides  might  be  cleared  away  along  with  it. 

Meantime,  nature  found  some  channels,  worn  by  his  grief, 
through  which  her  comforts,  that,  like  waters,  press  on  all 
sides,  and  enter  at  every  cranny  and  fissure  in  the  house  of  life, 
might  gently  flow  into  him  with  their  sympathetic  soothing. 
Often  he  would  creep  away  to  the  nest  which  Hugh  had  built 
and  then  forsaken  ;  and  seated  there  in  the  solitude  of  the 
wide-bourgeoned  oak,  he  would  sometimes  feel  for  a  moment  as 
if  lifted  up  above  the  world  and  its  sorrows,  to  be  visited  by  an 
all-healing  wind  from  God,  that  came  to  him,  through  ther 
wilderness  of  leaves  around  him,  gently,  like  all  powerful 
things. 

But  /  am  putting  the  boy's  feelings  into  forms  and  worda 
for  him.     He  had  none  of  either  for  them. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A    STORM. 

"When  the  mind's  free. 
The  body's  delicate  :  the  tempest  in  my  mind 
Doth  from  my  senses  take  all  feeling  else 
Save  what  beats  there.  King  Lear. 

While  Harry  took  to  wandering  abroad  in  the  afternoon 
sun,  Hugh,  on  the  contrary,  found  the  bright  weather  so  dis- 
tasteful to  him,  that  he  generally  trifled  away  his  afternoons 
with  some  old  romance  in  tlie  dark  library,  or  lay  on  the  couch 
in  his  study,  listless  and  suffering.  He  could  neither  read  nor 
write.     V/hat  he  felt  he  maat  do  he  did  ;  but  nothino;  more. 


186  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

One  day,  about  noon,  the  weather  began  to  change.  In  the 
afternoon  it  grew  dark;  and  Hugh,  going  to  the  window,  per- 
ceived with  dcliglit  —  the  first  he  had  experienced  for  many 
days  —  that  a  great  thunder-storm  was  at  liand.  Harry  was 
rather  frightened  ;  but  under  his  fear  there  evidently  lay  a 
deep  delight.  The  storm  came  nearer  and  nearer ;  till  at 
length  a  vivid  flash  broke  from  the  mass  of  darkness  over  the 
woods,  lasted  for  one  brilliant  moment,  and  vanished.  The 
thunder  followed,  like  a  pursuing  wild  beast,  close  on  the 
traces  of  the  vanishing  light ;  as  if  the  darkness  were  hunting 
the  light  from  the  earth,  and  bellowing  with  rage  that  it  could 
not  overtake  and  annihilate  it.  Without  the  usual  prelude  of 
a  few  great  drops,  the  rain  poured  at  once,  in  continuous 
streams,  from  the  dense  canopy  overhead ;  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments there  were  six  inches  of  water  all  round  the  house, 
which  the  force  of  the  falling  streams  made  to  foam,  and  fume, 
and  flash  like  a  seething  torrent.  Harry  had  crept  close  to 
Hugh,  who  stood  looking  out  of  the  window ;  and  as  if  the  con- 
vulsion of  the  elements  had  begun  to  clear  the  spiritual  and 
moral,  as  well  as  the  physical,  atmosphere,  Hugh  looked  down 
on  the  boy  kindly,  and  put  his  arm  round  his  shoulders. 
Harry  nestled  closer,  and  wished  it  would  thunder  forever. 
But  longing  to  hear  his  tutor's  voice,  he  ventured  to  speak, 
looking  up  to  his  face  :  — 

"  Euphra  says  it  is  only  electricity,  Mr.  Sutherland.  AVhat 
is  that?" 

A  common  tutor  would  have  seized  the  opportunity  of  ex- 
plaining what  he  knew  of  the  laws  and  operations  of  electric- 
ity. Bui  Hugh  had  been  long  enough  a  pupil  of  David  to 
feel  that  to  talk  at  such  a  time  of  anything  in  nature  but  God, 
would  be  to  do  the  boy  a  serious  wrong.  One  capable  of  so 
doing  would,  in  the  presence  of  the  Saviour  himself,  speculate 
on  the  nature  of  his  own  faith ;  or  upon  the  death  of  his  child 
seize  the  opportunity  of  lecturing  on  anatomy.  But  before 
Hugh  could  make  any  reply,  a  flash,  almost  invisible  from  ex- 
cess of  light,  was  accompanied  rather  than  followed  by  a  roar 
that  made  the  house  shake ;  and  in  a  moment  more  the  room 
was  filled  with  the  terrified  household,  which,  by  an  unreason- 
ing impulse,  rushed  to  the  neighborhood  of  him  who  was  con- 
eidered  the  strongest.     Mr.  Arnold  was  not  at  home. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  187 

"  Come  from  the  window  instantly,  Mr.  Sutherland.  How 
can  you  be  so  imprudent!"  cried  Mrs.  Elton,  her  usually 
calm  voice  elevated  in  command,  but  tremulous  with  fear. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Ellon,"  answered  Hugh,  on  Avhose  temper,  as 
well  as  conduct,  recent  events  had  had  their  operation,  "do 
you  think  the  devil  makes  the  thunder?  " 

Lady  Emily  gave  a  fiiint  shriek,  whether  out  of  reverence 
for  the  devil,  or  fear  of  God,  I  hesitate  to  decide  ;  and,  flitting 
out  of  the  room,  dived  into  her  bed,  and  drew  the  clothes  over 
her  head, —  at  least  so.  she  was  found  at  a  later  period  of  the 
day.  Euphra  walked  up  to  the  window  beside  Hugh,  as  if  to 
show  her  approval  of  his  rudeness ;  and  stood  looking  out  with 
eyes  that  filled  their  own  night  with  home-born  flashes,  though 
her  lip  was  pale,  and  quivered  a  little.  Mrs.  Elton,  confound- 
ed at  Hugh's  replj'-,  and  perhaps  fearing  the  house  might  in 
consequence  share  the  fate  of  Sodom,  notwithstanding  the  pres- 
ence of  a  goodly  proportion  of  the  righteous,  fled,  accompanied 
by  the  house-keaper,  to  the  wine-cellar.  The  rest  of  the  house- 
hold crept  into  corners,  except  the  coachman,  who,  retaining 
his  composure,  in  virtue  of  a  greater  degree  of  insensibility 
from  his  nearer  approximation  to  the  inanimate  creation,  emp- 
tied the  jug  of  ale  intended  for  the  dinner  of  the  company,  and 
went  out  to  look  after  his  horses. 

But  there  was  one  in  the  house  who,  left  alone,  threw  the 
window  Avide  open ;  and,  with  gently  clasped  hands  and  calm 
countenance,  looked  up  into  the  heavens;  and  the  clearness  of 
Avhose  eye  seemed  the  prophetic  symbol  of  the  clearness  that 
rose  all  untroubled  above  the  wild  turmoil  of  the  earthly 
storm. 

Truly  God  was  in  the  storm  ;  but  there  was  more  of  God  in 
the  clear  heaven  beyond  ;  and  yet  more  of  him  in  the  eye  that 
regarded  the  whole  with  a  still  joy,  in  which  was  mingled 
no   dismay. 

Euphra,  Hugh,  and  Harry  were  left  together,  looking  out 
upon  the  storm.  Hugh  could  not  speak  in  Harry's  presence. 
At  length  the  boy  sat  down  in  a  dark  corner  on  the  floor,  con- 
cealed from  the  others  by  a  Avindow-curtain.  Hugh  thought 
he  had  left  the  room. 

"  Euphra,"  he  began. 

Euphra    looked    round     for    Harry,    and   not    seeing  him, 


188  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

:hought  likewise  that  he  had  left  the  room.     She  glided  away 
without  making  any  answer  to  Hugh's  invocation. 

Pie  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  motionless  despair ;  ther 
glancing  round  the  room,  and  taking  in  all  its  desertedness, 
caught  up  his  hat,  and  rushed  out  into  the  storm.  It  Avas  the 
best  relief  his  feelings  could  have  had  ;  for  the  sullen  gloom, 
alternated  with  bursts  of  jflarne,  invasions  of  horrid  uproar,  and 
long,  wailing  blasts  of  tyrannous  wind,  gave  him  his  own  mood 
to  walk  in  ;  met  his  spirit  with  its  own  element ;  widened,  as 
it  were,  his  microcosm  to  the  expanse  of  the  macrocosm 
around  him.  All  the  walls  of  separation  were  thrown  down, 
and  he  lived,  not  in  his  own  frame,  but  in  the  universal  frame 
of  nature.  The  world  was,  for  the  time,  to  the  reality  of  his 
feeling,  what  Schleiermacher,  in  his  "Monologen,"  describes 
it  as  being  to  man,'^ —  an  extension  of  the  body  in  which  he 
dwells.  His  spirit  flashed  in  the  lightning,  raved  in  the  thun- 
der, moaned  in  the  wind,  and  wept  in  the  rain. 

But  this  could  not  last  long,  either  without  or  within  him. 

He  came  to  himself  in  the  woods.  IIow  far  he  had  wan- 
dered, or  whereabout  he  was,  he  did  not  know.  The  storm 
had  died  away,  and  all  that  remained  was  the  wind  and  the 
rain.  The  tree-tops*  swayed  wildly  in  the  irregular  blasts, 
and  shook  new,  fitful,  distracted,  and  momentary  showers  upon 
him.  It  was  evening,  but  Avhat  hour  of  the  evening  he  could 
not  tell.  He  was  wet  to  the  skin ;  but  that  to  a  young  Scotch- 
man is  a  matter  of  little  moment. 

Although  he  had  no  intention  of  returning  home  for  some 
time,  and  meant  especially  to  avoid  the  dinner-table,  —  for,  in 
the  mood  he  was  in,  it  seemed  more  than  he  could  endure  — 
lie  yet  felt  the  weakness  to  which  we  are  subject  as  embodied 
beings,  in  a  common  enough  form  ;  that,  namely,  of  the  neces- 
sity of  knowing  the  precise  portion  of  space  Avhich  at  the  mo- 
ment we  fill ;  a  conviction  of  our  identity  not  being  sufficient 
to  make  us  comfortable,  without  a  knowledge  of  our  locality 
So,  looking  all  about  him,  and  finding- where  the  wood  seemed 
thinnest,  he  went  in  that  direction  ;  and  soon,  by  forcing  his 
way  through  obstacles  of  all  salvage  kinds,  found  himself  in 
the  high  road,  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  country  town 
next  to  Arnstead,  removed  from  it  about  three  miles.  This 
little  town  he  knew  pretty  well ;   and,  beginning  to  feel  ex- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  189 

hausted,  resolved  to  go  to  an  inn  there,  dry  his  clothes,  and 
then  walk  back  in  the  moonlight ;  for  he  felt  sure  the  storm 
would  be  quite  over  in  an  hour  or  so.  The  fatigue  he  now 
felt  was  proof  enough  in  itself  that  the  inward  storm  had,  for 
the  time,  raved  itself  off;  and  now  —  must  it  be  confessed? 
—  he  wisted  very  much  for  something  to  eat  and  drink. 

He  was  soon  seated  by  a  blazing  fire,  with  a  chop  and  a. 
jug  of  ale  before  him. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

AN    EVENING    LECTURE: 


The  Nightmare 
Shall  call  thee  when  it  walks. 

MiDDLETON.  —  The  Witch. 


The  inn  to  which  Hugh  had  betaken  himself,  though  not 
the  first  in  the  town,  was  yet  what  is  called  a  respectable 
house,  and  was  possessed  of  a  room  of  considerable  size,  in 
which  the  farmers  of  the  neighborhood  were  accustomed  to 
hold  their  gatherings.  While  eating  his  dinner  Hugh 
learned  from  the  conversation  around  him  —  for  he  sat  in  the 
kitchen  for  the  sake  of  the  fire  —  that  this  room  was  being 
got  ready  for  a  lecture  on  •'  Bilology,"  as  the  landlady  called 
it.  Bills  in  red  and  blue  had  been  posted  all  over  the  town  ; 
and  before  he  had  finished  his  dinner,  the  audience  had  begun 
to  arrive.  Partly  from  curiosity  about  a  subject  of  which  he 
knew  nothing,  and  partly  because  it  still  rained,  and,  hav- 
ing got  nearly  dry,  he  did  not  care  about  a  second  wetting  if 
he  could  help  it,  Hugh  resolved  to  make  one  of  them.  So 
he  stood  by  the  fire  till  he  Avas  informed  that  the  lecturer  had 
made  his  appearance,  when  he  went  upstairs,  paid  his  shilling, 
and  was  admitted  to  one  of  the  front  seats.  The  room  was 
tolerably  lighted  with  gas  ;  and  a  platform  had  been  construct- 
ed for  the  lecturer  and  his  subjects.  When  the  place  was 
about  half  filled,  he  came  from  another  room  alone, —  a  little, 
thick-set,  bull-necked  man,  with  vulgar  face  and  rusty  black 


190  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

clothes, — and,  mounting  the  platform,  commenced  his  lecture, 
if  lecture  it  could  be  called,  in  which  there  seemed  •to  be  no 
order,  and  scarcely  any  sequence.  No  attempt  even  at  a  the- 
ory  showed  itself  in  the  mass  of  what  he  called  facts  and  sci- 
entific truths  ;  and  he  2^Gr2}etia'(ited  the  most  awful  blunders 
in  his  English.  It  will,  not  be  desired  that  I  should  give  any 
further  account  of  such  a  lecture.  The  lecturer  himself 
seemed  to  depend  chiefly  for  his  success  upon  the  manifesta- 
tions of  his  art  which  he  proceeded  to  bring  forward.  He 
called  his  familiar  by  the  name  of  Willl-am,  and  a  stunted, 
pale-faced,  dull-looking  youth  started  up  from  somewhere,  and 
scrambled  upon  the  platform  beside  his  master.  Upon  this 
tutored  slave  a  number  of  experiments  was  performed.  lie 
was  first  cast  into  whatever  abnormal  condition  is  necessary 
for  the  operations  of  biology,  and  then  compelled  to  make  a 
fool  of  himself  by  exhibiting  actions  the  most  inconsistent  with 
his  real  circumstances  and  necessities.  But,  aware  that  all 
this  was  open  to  the  most  palpable  objection  of  collusion,  the 
operator  next  invited  any  of  the  company  that  pleased  to  sub- 
mit themselves  to  his  influences.  Alter  a  pause  of  a  few  mo- 
ments, a  stout  country  fellow,  florid  and  healtliy,  got  up  and 
slouched  to  the  platform.  Certainly,  whatever  might  be  the 
nature  of  the  influence  that  was  brought  to  bear,  its  operative' 
power  could  not,  with  the  least  probability,  be  attributed  to 
an  over-activity  of  imagination  in  either  of  the  subjects  sub- 
mitted to  its  exercise.  In  the  latter  as  well  as  in  the  former 
case  the  operator  was  eminently  successful ;  and  the  cloAvn  re- 
turned to  his  seat,  looking  remarkaljly  foolish  and  conscious  of 
disgrace, —  a  sufficient  voucher  to  most  present,  that  in  this 
case  at  least  there  had  been  no  collusion.  Several  others  vol- 
unteered their  negative  services  ;  but  Avith  no  one  of  them  did 
he  succeed  so  Avell,  and  in  one  case  the  failure  was  evident. 
The  lecturer  pretended  to  account  for  this,  in  making  some 
confused  and  unintelligible  remarks  about  the  state  of  the 
weather,  the  thunder-storm,  electricity,  etc.,  of  which  things 
he  evidently  did  not  understand  the  best  known  laws. 

"  The  blundering  idiot !  "  growled,  close  to  Hugh's  ear,  a 
voice  with  a  foreign  accent. 

He  looked  round  sharply. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  191 

A  tall,  powerful,  eminently  handsome  man,  with  his  face  aa 
foreign  as  his  tone  and  accent,  sat  beside  him. 

"I  beg  jour  pardon,"  he  said  to  Hugh;  "I  thought 
aloud." 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  if  jou  wouldn't  mind  telling  me, 
what  JOU  detect  of  the  blunderer  in  him.  I  am  quite  ignorant 
of  these  matters." 

"  I  have  had  manj  opportunities  of  observing  them  ;  and  I 
see  at  once  that  this  man,  though  he  has  the  natural  power,  is 
excessivelj  ignorant  of  the  whole  subject." 

This  was  all  the  answer  he  vouchsafed  to  Hugh's  modest 
inquirj.  Hugh  had  not  jet  learned  that  one  will  alwajs  fare 
better  bj  cojjcealing  than  bj  acknowledging  ignorance.  The 
man,  whatever  his  capacitj,  who  honestlj  confesses  even  a 
partial  ignorance,  will  instantlj  be  treated  as  more  or  less  in- 
capable, bj  the  ordinarj  man  who  has  alreadj  gained  a  partial 
knowledge,  or  is  capable  of  assuming  a  knov/ledge  which  he 
does  not  possess.  But,  for  God's  sake  !  let  the  honest  and 
modest  man  stick  to  his  honestj  and  modestj,  cost  what  thej 
maj. 

Hugh  was  silent,  and  fixed  his  attention  once  more  on  what 
was  going  on.  But  presentlj  he  became  aware  that  the  for- 
eiojner  was  scrutinizino;  him  with  the  closest  attention.  He 
knew  this,  somehow,  Avithout  having  looked  round ;  and  the 
knowledge  was  accompanied  with  a  feeling  of  discomfort  that 
caused  him  to  make  a  restless  movement  on  his  seat.  Pres- 
entlj he  felt  that  the  annojance  had  ceased;  but  not  manj 
minutes  had  passed  before  it  again  commenced.  In  order  to 
relieve  himself  from  a  feeling  Avhich  he  could  on]  j  compare  to 
that  which  might  be  produced  bj  the  presence  of  the  dead,  he 
turned  towards  his  neighbor  so  suddenlj,  that  it  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  embarrass  him,  his  ejes  being  caught  in  the  verj 
act  of  devouring  the  stolen  indulgence.  But  the  stranger  re- 
covered himself  instantlj  with  the  question  :  — 

"  Will  JOU  permit  me  to  ask  of  what  Tountr  j  jou  are  ?  "-    " 

Hugh  thought  he  made  the  request  onlj  for  the  sake  of  cov- 
ering his  rudeness  ;   and  so  merelj  answered  :  — 

"  Whj,  an  Englishman  of  course." 

"Ah!  jGS ;  it  is  not  necessarj  to  be  told  that.  But  it 
seems  to  me,  from  jour  accent,  that  jou  are  a  Scotchman." 


192  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

"  So  I  am." 

•'A  Highlander?" 

"  I  was  born  in  the  Highlands.  But,  if  you  are  very  anx- 
ious to  know  my  pedigree,  I  have  no  reason  for  concealing  the 
fact  that  I  am,  by  birth,  half  a  Scotchman  and  half  a  Welch- 
man." 

The  foreigner  riveted  his  gaze,  though  but  for  the  briefest 
moment  sufficient  to  justify  its  being  called  a  gaze,  once  more 
upon  Hugh  ;  and  then,  with  a  slight  bow,  as  of  acquiescence, 
turned  towards  the  lecturer. 

When  the  lecture  was  over,  and  Hugh  was  walking  away  in 
the  midst  of  the  withdrawing  audience,  the  stranger  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder.  ^ 

"You  said  that  yon  would  like  to  know  more  of  this  sci- 
ence; will  you  come  to  my  lodging?  "  said  he. 

"  With  pleasure,"  Hugh  answered;  though  the  look  with 
which  he  accompanied  the  words  must  have  been  one  rather 
of  surprise. 

"You  are  astonished  that  a  stranger  should  invite  you  so. 
Ah  !  you  English  always  demand  an  introduction.  There  is 
mine." 

He  handed  Hugh  a  card,  —  Herr  von  Fanlcelstein.  Hugh 
happened  to  be  provided  with  one  in  exchange. 

The  two  walked  out  of  the  inn,  along  the  old  High  Street, 
full  of  gables  and  all  the  delightful  irregularities  of  an  old 
country-town,  till  they  came  to  a  court,  down  which  Herr  von 
Funkelstein  led  the  way. 

He  let  himself  in  with  a  pass-key  at  a  low  door,  and  then 
conducted  Hugh,  by  a  stair  whose  narrowness  was  equalled  by 
its  steepness,  to  a  room,  which,  though  not  many  yards  above 
the  level  of  the  court,  was  yet  next  to  the  roof  of  the  low 
house.  Hugh  could  see  nothing  till  his  conductor  lighted  a 
candle.  Then  he  found  himself  in  a  rather  large  room  with  a 
shaky  floor  and  a  low  roof.  A  chintz-curtained  bed  in  one 
corner  had  the  skin  of  a  tiger  thrown  over  it ;  and  a  table  in 
another  had  a  pair  of  foils  lying  upon  it.  The  German  —  for 
such  he  seemed  to  Hugh  —  offered  him  a  chair  in  the  politest 
manner,  and  Hugh  sat  down. 

"  I  am  only  in  lodgings  here,"  said  the  host ;  "so  you  will 
forgive  the  poverty  of  my  establishment." 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  193 

"There  is  no  occasion  for  forgiveness,  I  assure  you, "'an- 
swered Hugh. 

"  You  wished  to  know  something  of  the  subject  with  which 
that  lecturer  was  befooling  himself  and  the  audience  at  the 
same  time." 

''  I  shall  be  grateful  for  any  enlightenment." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  a  subject  for  the  study  of  a  benevolent  scholar ; 
not  for  such  a  clown  as  that.  He  jumps  at  no  conclusions; 
yet  he  shares  the  fate  of  one  who  does  :  he  flounders  in  the 
mire  between.  No  man  will  make  anything  of  it  who  has  not 
the  benefit  of  the  human  race  at  heart.  Humanity  is  the  only 
safe  guide  in  matters  such  as  these.  This  is  a  dangerous 
study  indeed  in  unskilful  hands." 

Here  a  frightful  caterwauling  interrupted  Herr  von  Funkel- 
stein.  The  room  had  a  storm-window,  of  which  the  lattice 
stood  open.  In  front  of  it  on  the  roof,  seen  against  a  white' 
house  opposite,  stood  a  demon  of  a  cat,  arched  to  half  its 
length,  with  a  tail  expanded  to  double  its  natural  thickness. 
Its  antagonist  was  invisible  from  where  Hugh  sat.  Von  Fun- 
kelstein  started  up  without  making  the  slightest  noise,  ti'od  as 
softly  as  a  cat  to  the  table,  took  up  one  of  the  foils,  removed 
the  button,  and,  creeping  close  to  tlie  window,  made  one  rapid 
pass  at  the  enemy,  which  vanished  with  a  shriek  of  hatred  and 
fear.  He  then,  replacing  the  button,  laid  the  foil  down,  and 
resumed  his  seat  and  his  discourse.  This,  after  dealing  with 
generalities  and  commonplaces  for  some  time,  gave  no  sign  of 
coming  either  to  an  end  or  to  the  point.  All  the  time  he  was 
watching  Hugh  —  at  least  so  Hugh  thought  —  as  if  speculat- 
ing on  him  in  general.  Then  appearing  to  have  come  to  some 
conclusion,  he  gave  his  mind  more  to  his  talk,  and  encouraged 
Hugh  to  speak  as  well.  The  conversation  lasted  for  nearly 
half  an  hour.  At  its  close,  Hugh  felt  that  the  stranger  had 
touched  upon  a  variety  of  interesting  subjects,  as  one  possessed 
of  a  minute  knowledge  of  them.  But  he  did  not  feel  that  he 
had  gained  any  insight  from  his  conversation.  It  seemed, 
rather,  as  if  he  had  been  giving  him  a  number  of  psychological, 
social,  literary,  and  scientific  receipts.  During  the  course  of 
the  talk,  his  eyes  had  appeared  to  rest  on  Hugh  by  a  kind  of 
compulsion ;  as  if  by  its  own  will  it  would  have  retired  from 
the  scrutiny,  but  the  will  of  its  owner  was  too  strong  for  it 

13 

/'   ^'        OF  THc 


194  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

It  seemed,  in  relation  to  him,  to  be  only  a  kind  of  tool,  which 
he  used  for  a  particular  purpose. 

At  length  Fuukelstein  rose,  and,  marching  across  the  room 
to  a  cupboard,  brought  out  a  bottle  and  glasses,  saying,  in  the 
most  bj-the-by  way,  as  he  went :  — 

"Have  you  the  second-sight,  Mr.  Sutherland?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  as  far  as  I  am  aware." 

"  Ah  !  the  Welch  do  have  it,  do  they  not?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course!"  answered  Hugh,  laughing.  "I 
should  like  to  know,  though,"  he  added,  "  whether  they  in- 
herit the  gift  as  Celts  or  as  mountaineers." 

"  Will  you  take  a  glass  of —  ?  " 

"  Of  nothing,  thank  you,"  answered  and  interrupted  Hugh. 
"It  is  time  for  me  to  be  going.  Indeed,  I  fear  I  have  stayed 
too  long  already.     Good-night,  Herr  von  Funkelstein." 

"  You  will  allow  me  the  honor  of  returning  your  visit  ?  " 

Hugh  felt  he  could  do  no  less,  although  he  had  not  the 
smallest  desire  to  keep  up  the  acquaintance.  He  wrote  Arn- 
stead  on  his  card. 

As  he  left  the  house,  he  stumbled  over  something  in  the 
court.     Looking  down,  he  saw  it  was  a  cat,  apparently  dead. 

' '  Can  it  be  the  cat  Herr  Funkelstein  made  the  pass  at  ?  " 
thought  he.  But  presently  he  foriiot  all  about  it,  in  the  vis- 
ions of  Euphra  which  filled  his  mind  during  his  moonlight 
Avalk  home.  It  just  occurred  to  him,  however,  before  those 
visions  had  blotted  everything  else  from  his  view,  that  he  had 
learned  simply  nothing  whatever  about  biology  from  his  late 
host. 

When  he  reached  home,  he  was  admitted  by  the  butler,  and 
retired  to  bed  at  once,  where  he  slept  soundly,  for  the  first 
time  for  many  nights. 

But,  as  he  drew  near  his  own  room,  he  might  have  seen, 
though  he  saw  not,  a  little  white  figure  gliding  away  in  the 
far  distance  of  the  long  passage.  It  was  only  Harry,  who 
could  not  lie  still  in  his  bed,  till  he  knew  that  his  big  brother 
was  safe  at  home. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  195 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ANOTHER  EVENING  LECTURE.  . 

This  Eneas  is  come  to  Paradise 
Out  of  tho  swolowe  of  Hell. 

Chaucer.  —  Legend  of  Dido. 

The  next  day,  Hugh  was  determined  to  find  or  make  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  Euplira  ;  and  fortune  seemed  to 
favor  him.  Or  was  it  Euphra  herself  in  one  or  other  of  her  in- 
explicable moods  ?  At  all  events,  she  bad  that  morning  allowed 
the  ladies  and  her  uncle  to  go  without  her  ;  and  Hugh  met 
her  as  he  went  to  his  study.  o 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  for  one  moment?  "  said  he,  hurriedly, 
and  with  trembling  lips. 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile,  and  a  glance  in 
his  face  as  of  wonder  as  to  what  could  trouble  him  so  much. 
Then  turning,  and  leading  the  way,  she  said  :  — 

"  Come  into  my  room." 

He  followed  her.  She  turned  and  shut  the  door,  which  he 
had  left  open  behind  him.  He  almost  knelt  to  her ;  but  some- 
thing held  him  back  from  that. 

"  Euphra,"  he  said,   "  what  have  I  done  to  offend  you?  " 

"Offend  me!  Nothing."  This  was  uttered  in  a  perfect 
tone  of  surprise. 

"  How  is  it  that  you  avoid  me  as  you  do,  and  will  not  allow 
me  one  moment's  speech  with  you?  You  are  driving  me  to 
distraction." 

"Why,  you  foolish  man!"  she  answered,  half  playfully, 
pressing  the  palms  of  her  little  hands  together,  and  looking  up 
in  his  face,  "  how  can  I?  Don't  you  see  how  those  two  dear 
old  ladies  swallow  me  up  in  their  faddles  ?  Oh,  dear  !  Oh, 
dear !  I  wish  they  would  go.  Then  it  would  be  all  right 
again,  — wouldn't  it  ?  " 

But  Hugh  was  not  to  be  so  easily  satisfied. 

"  Before  they  came,  ever  since  that  night —  " 

"  Hush-sh  !  "  she  interrupted,  putting  her  finger  on  his  lips, 
and  looking  hurriedly  round  her  with  an  air  of  fright,  of  which 


196  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

he   could  hardlj  judge  whether  it  was   real   or  assumed, — 
"hush!" 

Comforted  wondrouslj  by  the  hushing  finger,  Hugh  would 
yet  understand  more. 

"  I  am  no  baby,  dear  Euphra,"  he  said,  taking  hold  of  t!ie 
hand  to  which  the  finger  belonged,  and  laying  it  on  his  mouth ; 
"  do  not  make  one  of  me.     There  is  some  mystery  in  all  this,- 
at  least  something  I  do  not  understand." 

"I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  one  day.  But,  seriously,  you 
must  be  careful  how  you  behave  to  me  ;  for  if  my  uncle  should, 
but  for  one  moment,  entertain  a  suspicion  —  good-by  to  you 
—  perhaps  good-by  to  Arnstead.  All  my  influence  with  him 
comes  from  his  thinking  that  I  like  him  better  than  anybody 
else.  So  you  must  not  make  the  poor  old  man  jealous.  By- 
the-by,"  she  went*  on,  — rapidly,  as  if  she  .would  turn  the 
current  of  the  conversation  aside,  —  "  what  a  favorite  you  have 
grown  with  him  !  You  should  have  heard  him  talk  of  you  to 
the  old  ladies.  I  might  well  be  jealous  of  you.  There  never 
was  a  tutor  like  his." 

Hugh's  heart  smote  him  that  the  praise  of  even  this  common 
man,  proud  of  his  own  vanity,  should  be  undeserved  by  him. 
He  was  troubled,  too,  at  the  flippancy  with  which  Euphra 
spoke ;  yet  not  the  less  did  he  feel  that  he  loved  her  passion- 
ately. 

"  I  dare  say,"  he  replied,  "  he  praised  me  as  he  would 
anything  else  that  happened  to  be  his.  Isn't  that  old  bay 
horse  of  his  the  best  hack  in  the  county  ?  ' ' 

"  You  naughty  man  !     Are  you  going  to  be  satirical  ?  " 

"  You  claim  that  as  your  privilege,  do  you?  " 

''Worse  and  worse !  I  will  not  talk  to  you.  But,  seriously, 
for  I  must  go  —  bring  your  Italian  to — to — "   She  hesitated. 

"  To  the  library,  —  why  not  ?  "  suggested  Hugh.' 

"  No-o,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head,  and  looking  quite 
Bolemn. 

"Well,  will  you  come  to  my  study?  Will  that  please  you 
better?" 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  she  answered,  with  a  definitive  tone.  "  Good- 
by  now." 

She  opened  the  door,  and,  having  looked  out  to  see  that  no 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  197 

one  was  passing,  told  him  to  go.  As  he  went,  he  felt  as  if  the 
oaken  floor  were  elastic  beneath  his  tread. 

It  was  some  time  after  the  household  had  retired,  however, 
before  Euphra  made  her  appearance  at  the  door  of  his  study. 
She  seemed  rather  shy  of  entering,  and  hesitated,  as  if  she  felt 
she  was  doing  something  she  ought  not  to  do.  But  as  soon  as 
she  had  entered,  and  the  door  was  shut,  she  appeared  to  re- 
cover herself  quite  ;  and  they  sat  down  at  the  table  with  their 
books.  They  could  not  get  on  very  well  with  their  reading, 
however.  Hugh  often  forgot  what  he  was  about,  in  looking  at 
her;  and  she  seemed  nowise  inclined  to  avert  his  gazes,  or 
check  the  growth  of  his  admiration. 

Rather  abruptly,  but  apparently  starting  from  some  sugges- 
tion in  the  book,  she  said  to  him :  — 

"By-the-by,  has  Mr.  Arnold  ever  said  anything  to  you 
about  the  family  jewels  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Hugh.      "  Are  there  many?  " 

"  Yes,  a  great  many.  Mr.  Arnold  is  very  proud  of  them,  as 
well  as  of  the  portraits  ;  so  he  treats  them  in  the  same  way, — 
keeps  them  locked  up.  Indeed,  he  seldom  allows  them  to  see 
daylight,  except  it  be  as  a  mark  of  especial  favor  to  some 
one.'' 

"I  should  like  much  to  see  them.  I  have  always  been 
curious  about  stones.  They  are  wonderful,  mysterious  things 
to  me." 

Euphra  gave  him  a  very  peculiar,  searching  glance,  as  he 
spoke. 

"  Shall  I,"  he  continued,  "  give  him  a  hint  that  I  should 
like  to  see  them  ?  " 

"By  no  means,"  answered  Euphra,  emphatically,  "except 
he  should  refer  to  them  himself  He  is  very  jealous  of  his 
possessions, —  his  flimily  possessions,  I  mean.  Poor  old  man  ! 
he  has  not  much  else  to  plume  himself  upon ;  has  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  kind  to  you,  Euphra." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  did  not  understand  him. 

"Yes.     What  then?" 

"You  ought  not  to  be  unkind  to  him." 

"  You  odd  creature  !  I  am  not  unkind  to  him.  I  like 
him.  But  we  are  not  getting  on  with  our  reading.  What 
could  have  led  me  to  talk  about  family  jewels  ?     Oh  !     I  see. 


198  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

What  a  strange  thing  the  association  of  ideas  is !  There  is  not 
a  very  obvious  connection  here,  is  there?  " 

*'  No.  One  cannot  account  for  such  things.  The  links  in 
the  chain  of  ideas  are  sometimes  slender  enough ;  jet  the 
slenderest  is  sufficient  to  enable  the  electric  flash  of  thought  to 
pass  along  the  line." 

She  seemed  pondering  for  a  moment. 

"  That  strikes  me  as  a  fine  simile,"  she  said.  ''  You  ought 
to  be  a  poet  yourself." 

Hugh  made  no  reply. 

"  I  dare  say  you  have  hundreds  of  poems  in  that  old  desk, 
now?  " 

"  I  think  they  might  be  counted  by  tens." 

"  Do  let  me  see  them." 

"  You  would  not  care  for  them." 

"  Wouldn't  I,  Hugh  ?  " 

"I  will,  on  one  condition  —  two  conditions,  I  mean." 

"What  are  they?" 

"  One  is,  that  you  show  me  yours." 

"Mine?" 

"Yes." 

"  Who  told  you  I  wrote  verses  ?     That  silly  boy  ?  " 

"  No.  I  saw  your  verses  before  I  saw  you.  You  remem- 
ber?" 

"  It  was  very  dishonorable  in  you  to  read  them." 

"  I  only  saw  they  were  verses.     I  did  not  read  a  word." 

"  I  forgive  you,  then.  You  must  show  me  yours  first,  till  I 
see  whether  I  could  venture  to  let  you  see  mine.  If  yours 
were  very  bad  indeed,  then  I  might  risk  showing  mine." 

And  much  more  of  this  sort,  with  which  I  will  not  weary  my 
readers.  It  ended  in  Hugh's  taking  from  the  old  escritoire  a 
bundle  of  papers,  and  handing  them  to  Euphra.  But  the 
reader  need  not  fear  that  I  am  going  to  print  any  of  these 
verses.  I  have  more  respect  for  my  honest  prose  page  than  to 
break  it  up  so.  Indeed,  the  whole  of  this  interview  might 
have  been  omitted,  but  for  two  circumstances.  One  of  them 
was,  that,  in  getting  these  papers,  Hugh  had  to  open  a  con- 
cealed portion  of  the  escritoire,  Avhich  his  mathematical  knowl- 
edge had  enabled  him  to  discover.  It  had  evidently  not  been 
opened  for  many  years  before  he  found  it.     He  had  made  use 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  199 

of  it  to  hold  the  only  treasures  he  had, --poor  enough 
treasures,  certainly  !  Not  a  loving  note,  not  a  lock  of  hair 
even  had  he, —  nothing  but  the  few  cobAvebs  spun  from  his  own 
bi'ain.  It  is  true,  we  are  rich  or  poor  according  to  what  wo 
are,  not  what  we  have.  But  what  a  man  has  produced  is  not 
what  he  is.  He  may  even  impoverish  his  true  self  by  pro- 
duction. 

When  Euphra  saw  him  open  this  place,  she  uttered  a  sup- 
pressed cry  of  astonishment. 

• '  Ah  !  ' '  said  Hugh,  ' '  you  did  not  know  of  this  hidie-liole, 
did  you?  " 

"Indeed,  I  did  not.  I  had  used  the  desk  myself,  for  this 
was  a  favorite  room  of  mine  before  you  came,  but  I  never  found 
that.     Dear  me  !     Let  me  look." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  leaned  over  him,  aa 
he  pointed  out  the  way  of  opening  it. 

"Did  you  find  nothing  in  it?"  she  said,  with  a  light 
tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  Nothing  whatever." 

"  There  may  be  more  places." 

"  No.     I  have  accounted  for  the  whole  bulk,  I  believe." 

' '  How  strange  !  ' ' 

"  But  now  you  must  give  me  my  guerdon,"  said  Hugh, 
timidly. 

The  fact  was,  the  poor  youth  had  bargained,  in  a  playful 
manner,  and  yet  with  an  earnest,  covetous  heart,  for  one,  the 
first  kiss,  in  return  for  the  poems  she  begged  to  see. 

She  turned  her  face  towards  him. 

The  second  circumstance  which  makes  the  interview  worth 
recording  is,  that,  at  this  moment,  three  distinct  knocks  were 
heord  on  the  window.  They  sprang  asunder,  and  saw  each 
other's  face  paie  as  death.  In  Euphra's,  the  expression  of 
fright  was  mingled  with  one  of  annoyance.  Hugh,  though  his 
heart  trembled  like  a  bird,  leaped  to  the  window.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen  but  the  trees  that  "  stretched  their  dark  arms  " 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  oriel.  Turning  again  towards  Euphra, 
he  found,  to  his  mortification,  that  she  had  vanished  and  had 
left  the  packet  of  poems  behind  her. 

He  replaced  them  in  their  old  quarters  in  the  escritoire ; 
and   his    vague   dismay     at   the    unaccountable    noises    waa 


200  DAVID    ELGINBKOD. 

drowned  in  the  bitter  waters  of  miserable  humiliation.  He 
slept  at  last  from  the  exhaustion  of  disappointment. 

When  he  awoke,  however,  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that 
he  had  made  far  too  much  of  the  trifling  circumstance  of  her 
leaving  the  verses  behind.  For  was  she  not  terrified  ?  — 
Whj,  then,  did  she  leave  him  and  go  alone  to  her  own  room  ? 
—  She  must  have  felt  that  she  ought  not  to  be  in  his,  at  that 
hour,  and  therefore  dared  not  stay.  —  Why  dared  not  ?  Did 
she  think  the  house  was  haunted  by  a  ghost  of  propriety  ? 
What  rational  theory  couUl  he  invent  to  account  for  the 
strange  and  repeated  sounds  ?  lie  puzzled  himself  over  it  to 
the  verge  of  absolute  intellectual  prostration. 

He  was  generally  the  first  in  the  breakfast-room;  that  is, 
after  Euphra,  who  was  always  the  first.  She  went  up  to  him 
as  he  entered,  and  said,  almost  in  a  whisper  :  — 

"  Have  you  got  the  poems  for  me  ?     Quick  !  " 

Hugh  hesitated.      She  looked  at  him. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last.       "  You  never  wanted  them." 

'' That  is  ?"e?'?/ unkind;  when  you  know  I  was  frightened 
out  of  my  wits.     Do  give  me  them." 

"  They  are  not  worth  giving  you.  Besides,  I  have  not  got 
them.  I  don't  carry  them  in  my  pocket.  They  are  in  the 
escritoire.  I  couldn't  leave  them  lying  about.  Never  mind 
them." 

"  I  have  a  right  to  them,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him 
slyly  and  shyly. 

"  Well,  I  gave  you  them,  and  you  did  not  think  them  worth 
keeping.     I  kept  my  part  of  the  bargain." 

She  looked  annoyed. 

"Never  mind,  dear  Euphra;  you  shall  have  them,  or  any- 
thing else  I  have ;  —  the  brain  that  made  them  if  you  like." 

"  Was  it  only  the  brain  that  had  to  do  -with  the  making  of 
them?" 

"  Perhaps  the  heart  too;  but  you  have  that  already." 

Her  face  flushed  like  a  damask  rose. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Elton  entered,  and  looked  a  little  sur- 
prised.    Euphra  instantly  said  :  — 

"I  think  it  is  rather  too  bad  of  you,  Mr.  Sutherland,  to 
keep  the  boy  so  hard  to  his  work,  when  you  know  he  is  not 
strong.     Mrs.  Elton,  I  have  been  begging  a  holiday  for  poor 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  201 

Harry,  to  let  him  go  with  us  to  Wotton  House ;  but  he  has 
such  a  hard  task-master  !     He  will  not  hear  of  it." 

The  flush,  which  she  could  not  get  rid  of  all  at  once,  was 
thus  made  to  do  dutj  as  one  of  displeasure.  Mrs.  Elton  was 
thoroughly  deceived,  and  united  her  entreaties  to  those  of  Miss 
Cameron.  Hugh  was  compelled  to  join  in  the  deception,  and 
pretend  to  yield  a  slow  consent.  Thus  a  holiday  was  extem- 
porized for  Harry,  subject  to  the  approbation  of  his  father. 
This  was  readily  granted ;  and  Mr.  Arnold,  turning  to  Hugh, 
said :  — 

"  You  will  have  nothing  to  do,  Mr.  Sutherland;  had  you 
not  better  join  us  ?  " 

"With  pleasure,"  replied  he;  "but  the  carriage  will  be 
full." 

"  You  can  take  your  horse." 

"  Thank  you  very  much.      I  will." 

The  day  was  delightful ;  one  of  those  gray  summer-days, 
that  are  far  better  for  an  excursion  than  bright  ones.  In  the 
best  of  spirits,  mounted  on  a  good  horse,  riding  alongside  of 
the  carriage  in  which  Avas  the  lady  who  was  all  womankind  to 
him,  and  who,  without  taking  much  notice  of  him,  yet  con- 
trived to  throw  him  a  glance  now  and  then,  Hugh  would  have 
been  overflowingly  happy,  but  for  an  unquiet,  distressed  feel- 
ing, which  all  the  time, made  him  aware  of  the  presence  of  a 
sick  conscience  somewhere  within.  Mr.  Arnold  was  exceed- 
ingly pleasant,  for  he  was  much  taken  with  the  sweetness  and 
modesty  of  Lady  Emily,  who,  having  no  strong  opinions  upon 
anything,  received  those  of  Mr.  Arnold  with  attentive  submis- 
sion. He  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw,  in  her,  a  great  resemblance 
to  his  deceased  wife,  to  whom  he  had  been  as  sincerely  at- 
tached as  his  nature  would  allow.  In  fact.  Lady  Emily  ad-- 
vanced  so  rapidly  in  his  good  graces,  that  either  Euphra  was, 
or  thought  fit  to  appear,  rather  jealous  of  her.  She  paid  her 
every  attention,  however,  and  seemed  to  gratify  Mr.  Arnold  by 
her  care  of  the  invalid.  She  even  joined  in  the  entreaties 
which,  on  their  way  home,  he  made  with  evident  earnestness, 
for  an  extension  of  their  visit  to  a  month.  Lady  Emily  was 
already  so  much  better  for  the  change,  that  Mrs.  Elton  made 
no  objection  to  the  proposal.  Euphra  gave  Hugh  one  look  of 
misery,  and,  turning  again,  insisted  with  increased  warmth  on 


202  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

tlicir  immediate  consent.     It  was  gained   without  much  diffi- 
culty, before  thej  reached  home. 

Harry,  too,  was  captivated  by  the  gentle  kindness  of  Lady 
Emily,  and  hardly  took  his  eyes  off  her  all  the  way ;  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  his  delicate  little  attentions  had  already 
gained  the  heart  of  good  Mrs.  Elton,  who  from  the  first  had 
remarked  and  pitied  the  sad  looks  of  the  boy. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A   NEW   VISITOR   AND    AN    OLD    ACQUAINTANCE. 

lie's  enough 
To  bring  a  woman  to  confusion, 
More  than  a  wiser  man,  or  a  far  greater. 

iMiDDLETO>f.  —  The  Witch. 

When  they  reached  the  lodge,  Lady  Emily  expressed  a  wish 
to  walk  up  the  avenue  to  the  house.  To  this  Mr.  Arnold 
gladly  consented.  The  carriage  was  sent  round  the  back  way; 
and  Hugh,  dismounting,  gave  his  horse  to  the  footman  in  at- 
tendance. As  they  drew  near  the  house,  the  rest  of  the  party 
having  stopped  to  look  at  an  old  tree  which  was  a  favorite  with 
its  owner,  Hugh  and  Harry  were  some  yards  in  advance, 
when  the  former  spied,  approaching  them  from  the  house,  the 
distinguished  figure  of  Herr  von  Funkelstein.  Saluting;  as 
they  met,  the  visitor  informed  Hugh  that  he  had  just  been 
leaving;  his  card  for  him,  and  would  call  some  other  morninor 
soon;  for,  as  he  was  rusticating,  he  had  little  to  occupy  him. 
Hugh  turned  Avith  him  towards  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  Avere 
now  close  at  hand,  Avhen  Funkelstein  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise :  — 

"  What !  Miss  Cameron  here  !  "  and  advanced  with  a  pro- 
found obeisance,  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

Hugh  thought  he  saw  her  look  annoyed ;  but  she  \e\d  out 
her  hand  to  him,  and,  in  a  voice  indicating  —  still  as  it  ap- 
peared to  Hugh  —  some  reluctance  introduced  him  to  her 
uncle,  with  the  words  ;  — - 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  203 

"  We  met  at  Sir  Edward  Laston's,  when  I  was  visiting  Mrs 
Elkingham,  two  years  ago,  uncle." 

Mr.  Arnold  lifted  his  hat,  and  bowed  politely  to  the  stran- 
ger. Had  Euphra  informed  him  that,  although  a  person  of 
considerable  influence  in  Sir  Edward's  household,  Ilerr  von 
Funkelstein  had  his  standing  there  only  as  Sir  Edward's  pri- 
vate secretary,  Mr,  Arnold's  aversion  to  foreigners  generally 
would  not  have  been  so  scrupulously  banished  into  the  back- 
ground of  his  behavior.  Ordinary  civilities  passed  between 
them,  marked  by  an  air  of  flattering  deference  on  Funkel- 
stein's  part,  which  might  have  been  disagreeable  to  a  man  less 
uninterruptedly  conscious  of  his  own  importance  than  Mr.  Ar- 
nold ;  and  the  new  visitor  turned  once  more,  as  if  forgetful  of 
his  previous  direction,  and  accompanied  them  towards  the 
house.  Before  they  reached  it  he  had,  even  in  that  short 
space,  ingratiated  himself  so  far  with  Mr.  Arnold,  that  he* 
asked  him  to  stay  and  dine  with  them,  — an  invitation  which* 
was  accepted  with  manifest  pleasure. 

"  Mr.  Sutherland,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  "will  you  show  your 
friend  anything  worth  note  about  the  place  ?  He  has  kindly 
consented  to  dine  with  us ;  and  in  the  mean  time  I  have  some 
letters  to  write." 

"With  pleasure,"  answered  Hugh. 

But  all  this  time  he  had  been  inwardly  commenting  on  the 
appearance  of  his  friend,  as  Mr.  Arnold  called  him,  with  the 
jealousy  of  a  youth  in  love ;  for  was  not  Funkelstein  an  old 
acquaintance  of  Miss  Cameron  ?  What  might  not  have  passed 
between  them  in  that  old  hidden  time?  —  for  love  is  jealous 
of  the  past  as  well  as  of  the  future.  Love,  as  well  as  meta- 
physics, has  a  lasting  quarrel  with  time  and  space ;  the  lower 
love  fears  them,  while  the  higher  defies  them.  And  he  could 
not  help  seeing  that  Funkelstein  was  one  to  win  favor  in 
ladies'  eyes.  Very  regular  features  and  a  dark  complexion 
were  lighted  up  by  eyes  as  black  as  Euphra's,  and  capable  of 
a  wonderful  play  of  light ;  while  his  form  was  remarkable  for 
strength  and  symmetry.  Hugh  felt  that  in  any  company  he 
would  attract  immediate  attention.  His  long,  dark  beard,  of 
which  just  the  centre  was  removed  to  expose  a  finely  turned 
chin,  blew  over  each  shoulder  as  often  as  they  met  the  wind  in 
2oin";  round  the  house.     From  what  I  have  heard  of  him  from 


204  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

other  deponents  besides  Hugh,  I  should  judge  that  he  did  well 
to  conceal  the  lines  of  his  mouth  in  a  long  mustache,  which 
flowed  into  his  bifurcated  beard.  He  had  just  enough  of  the 
foreign  in  his  dress  to  add  to  the  appearance  of  fashion  which 
it  bore. 

As  they  Avalked,  Hugh  could  not  help  observing  an  odd 
peculiarity  in  the  carriage  of  his  companion.  It  was,  that, 
every  few  steps,  he  gave  a  backward  and  downward  glance  to 
the  right,  with  a  sweeping  bend  of  his  body,  as  if  he  were  try- 
ing to  get  a  view  of  the  calf  of  his  leg,  or  as  if  he  fancied  he 
felt  something  trailing  at  his  foot.  So  probable,  from  his 
motion,  did  the  latter  supposition  seem,  that  Hugh  changed 
sides  to  satisfy  himself  whether  or  not  there  was  some  dragging 
briar  or  straw  annoying  him  ;  but  no  follower  was  to  be  dis- 
covered. 

"  You  are  a  happy  man,  ]Mr.  Sutherland,"  said  the  guest, 
"to  live  under  the  same  roof  with  that  beautiful  Miss  Cam- 
eron." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  thought  Hugh,  but  he  only  said,  aflfecting  some 
surprise  :  — 

"  Do  you  think  her  so  beautiful  ?  " 

Funkelstein's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  as  if  to  see  the 
effect  of  his  remark.  Hugh  felt  them,  and  could  not  conform 
his  face  to  the  indifference  of  his  words.  But  his  companion 
only  answered  indifferently  :  — 

"Well,  I  should  say  so;  but  beauty  is  not,  that  is  not 
beauty  for  us." 

Whether  or  not  there  was  poison  in  the  fork  of  this  remark, 
Hugh  could  only  conjecture.     He  made  no  reply. 

As  they  walked  about  the  precincts  of  the  house,  Funkel- 
steiu  asked  many  questions  of  Hugh,  which  his  entire  igno- 
rance of  domestic  architecture  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
answer.  This  seemed  only  to  excite  the  questioner's  desire  for 
information  to  a  higher  pitch ;  and,  as  if  the  very  stones  could 
reply  to  his  demands,  he  examined  the  whole  range  of  the 
various  buildings  constituting  the  house  of  Arnstead  "  as  he 
would  draw  it." 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  "there  is  at  least  variety  enough  iu 
the  style  of  this  mass  of  material.  There  is  enough  for  one 
pyramid." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  205 

•'That  would  be  rather  at  the  expense  of  the  variety,  T^ould 
it  not  ?  "  said  Hugh,  in  spiteful  response  to  the  inconsequence  of 
the  second  member  of  Funkelstein's  remark.  But  the  latter 
was  apparently  too  much  absorbed  in  his  continued  inspection 
of  the  house,  from  every  attainable  point  of  near  view,  to  heed 
the  comment. 

"  This  they  call  the  Gliost's  Walk,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Ah  !  about  these  old  houses  there  are  always  such  tales.'* 

"  What  sort  of  tales  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  of  particular  spots  and  their  ghosts.  You  must 
have  heard  many  such  ?  " 

"  No,  not  I.-' 

"  I  think  Germany  is  more  prolific  of  such  stories.  I  could 
tell  you  plenty." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  you  believe  such  things  ?  " 

"To  me  it  is  equal.  I  look  at  them  entirely  as  objects  of 
art." 

"  That  is  a  new  view  of  a  ghost  to  me.  An  object  of  art  ? 
I  should  have  thougiit  them  considerably  more  suitable  objects 
previous  to  their  disembodiment." 

"Ah  !  you  do  not  understand.  You  call  art  painting,  don't 
you,  or  sculpture  at  most?  I  give  up  sculpture  certainly, 
and  painting  too.  But  don't  you  think  a  ghost  a  very  effective 
object  in  literature  now  ?  Confess  :  do  you  not  like  a  ghost- 
story  very  much?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it  is  a  very  good  one." 

"  Hamlet  now?  " 

"Ah  !  we  don't  speak  of  Shakespeare's  plays  as  stories.  His 
characters  are  so  real  to  us,  that,  in  thinking  of  their  de- 
velopment, we  go  back  even  to  their  fathers  and  mothers,  and 
sometimes  even  speculate  about  their  future." 

' '  You  islanders  are  always  in  earnest  somehow.  So  are 
we  Germans.     We  are  all  one." 

"  I  hope  you  can  be  in  earnest  about  dinner,  then,  for  I 
hear  the  bell." 

"We  must  render  ourselves  in  the  drawing-room,  then? 
Yes." 

When  they  entered  the  di'awing-room,  they  found  Miss 
Cameron  alone.  Funkelstein  advanced,  and  addressed  a  •  few 
words  to  het  in  German   which  Hugh's  limited  acquaintance 


206  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

with  the  language  prevented  him  from  catching.  At  the 
some  moment,  Mr.  Arnold  entered,  and  Funkelstein,  turning 
to  him  imracdiatelj,  proceeded,  as  if  by  way  of  apology  for 
speaking  in  an  unknown  tongue,  to  interpret  for  Mr.  Arnold's 
benefit : — 

"  I  have  just  been  telling  Miss  Cameron,  in  the  language 
of  my  country,  how  much  better  she  looks  than  when  I  saw 
ler  at  Sir  EdAvard  Laston's." 

"I  know  I  was  quite  a  scarecrow  then,"  said  Euphra. 
-ittempting  to  laugh. 

"  And  now  you  are  quite  a  decoy-duck,  eh,  Euphra?  "  said 
Mr.  Arnold,  laughing  in  reality  at  his  o\fn  joke,  which  put 
him  in  great  good-humor  for  the  whole  time  of  dinner  and 
dessert. 

"  Thank  you,  uncle,"  said  Euphra,  with  a  prettily  pretended 
affectation  of  humility.     Then  she  added  gayly  :  — 

"When  did  you  rise  on  our  Sussex  horizon,  Herr  von 
Funkelstein?" 

"Oh!  I  have  been  in  the  neighborhood  for  a  few  days; 
but  I  owe  my  meeting  with  you  to  one  of  those  coincidences 
■which,  were  they  not  so  pleasant,  — to  me  in  this  case,  at 
least,  —  one  would  tliink  could  only  result  from  the  blundering 
of  old  Dame  Nature  over  her  knitting.  If  I  had  not  had  the 
good  fortune  to  meet  Mr.  Sutherland  the  other  evening,  I 
should  have  remained  in  utter  ignorance  of  your  neighborhood 
and  my' own  felicity.  Miss  Cameron.  Indeed,  I  called  now  to 
see  him,  not  you." 

IIuo;h  saw  Mr.  Arnold  lookino;  rather  doubtful  of  the 
foreigner's  fine  speeches. 

Dinner  was  announced.  Funkelstein  took  Miss  Cameron, 
Hugh  Mrs.  Elton,  and  Mr.  Arnold  followed  with  Lady  Emily, 
who  would  never  precede  her  older  friend.  Hugh  tried  to  talk 
to  iilrs.  Elton,  but  with  meagre  success.  He  was  suddenly  a 
nobody,  and  felt  more  than  he  had  felt  for  a  long  time  what, 
in  his  present  deteriorated  moral  state,  he  considered  the 
degradation  of  his  position.  A  gulf  seemed  to  have  suddenly 
yawned  between  himself  and  Euphra,  and  the  loudest  voice  of 
his  despairing  agony  could  not  reach  across  that  gulf.  An 
awful  conviction  awoke  within  him,  that  the  woman  he  wor- 
shipped would  scarcely  receive  his  worship  at  the  worth  of 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  207 

inceniBe  now ;  and  yet  in  spirit  he  fell  clown  grovelling  before 
his  idol.  The  words  ''  euphrasy  and  rue  "  kept  ringing  in  his 
brain,  coming  over  and  over  with  an  awful  mingling  of  chime 
and  toll.  When  he  thought  about  it  afterwards,  he  seemed  to 
have  been  a  year  in  crossing  the  hall  with  Mrs.  Elton  on  his 
arm.  But  as  if  divining  his  thoughts,  just  as  they  passed 
through  the  dining-room  door,  Euphra  looked  round  at  him, 
almost  over  Funkelstein's  shoulder,  and,  without  putting  into 
her  face  the  least  expression  discernible  by  either  of  the  others 
following,  contrived  to  banish  for  the  time  all  Hugh's  despair, 
and  to  convince  him  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  Funkel- 
stein.  How  it  was  done  Hugh  himself  could  not  tell.  He 
could  not  even  recall  the  look.  He  only  knew  that  he  had 
been  as  miserable  as  one  waking  in  his  coffin,  and  that  now  he 
was  out  in  the  sunny  air. 

During  dinner,  Funkelstein  paid  no  very  particular  atten-^ 
tion  to  Euphrasia,  but  was  remarkably  polite  to  Lady  Emily. 
She  seemed  hardly  to  know  how  to  receive  his  attentions,  but 
to  regard  him  as  a  strange  animal,  Tj'hich  she  did  not  know  how 
to  treat;  and  of  which  she  was  a  little  afraid.  Mrs.  Elton,  on 
the  contrary,  appeared  to  be  delighted  with  his  behavior  and 
conversation ;  for,  without  showing  the  least  originality,  he  yet 
had  seen  so  much,  and  knew  so  well  how  to  bring  out  what  he 
had  seen,  that  he  was  a  most  interesting  companion.  Hugh 
took  little  share  in  the  conversation  beyond  listening  as  well  as 
he  could,  to  prevent  himself  from  gazing  too  much  at  Euphra. 

"  Had  Mr.  Sutherland  and  you  been  old  acquaintances  then, 
Herr  von  Funkelstein?"  asked  Mr.  Arnold,  reverting  to  the 
conversation  which  had  been  interrupted  by  the  announcement 
of  dinner. 

"Not  at  all.  We  met  quite  accidentally,  and  introduced 
ourselves.  I  believe  a  thunder-storm  and  a  lecture  on  biology 
were  the  mediating  parties  between  us.  Was  it  not  so,  Mr. 
Sutherland?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  stammered  Hugh.  But  Mr.  Arnold 
interposed  :  — 

"  A  lecture  on  what,  did  you  say?  " 

"On  biology." 

Mr.  Arnold  looked  posed.  He  did  not  like  to  say  he  did 
no   know  what  the  word  meant ;  for,  like  many  more  ignorant 


208  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

men,  lie  thought  iuch  a  confession  humiliating.  Von  Funkel- 
stein  hastened  to  his  relief. 

"  It  would  be  rather  surprising  if  you  -were  acquainted  with 
the  subject,  Mr.  Arnold.  I  fear  to  explain  it  to  you,  lest  both 
Mr.  Sutherland  and  myself  should  sink  irrecoverably  in  your 
estimation.  But  young  men  want  to  know  all  that  is  going 
on." 

Herr  Funkelstein  was  not  exactly  what  one  would  call  a 
young  man  ;  but,  as  he  chose  to  do  so  himself,  there  was  no 
one  to  dispute  the  classification. 

"Oh!  of  course,"  replied  Mr.  Arnold;  "quite  right. 
What,  then,  pray,  is  biology  ?  " 

"  A  science,  falsely  so  called,"  said  Hugh,  who,  waking  up 
a  little,  wanted  to  join  in  the  conversation. 

"  What  does  the  loord  mean?  "  said  Mr.  Arnold. 

Yon  Funkelstein  answered  at  once  :  — 

"  The  science  of  life.  But  I  must  say,  the  name,  as  now 
applied,  is  no  indication  of  the  thing  signified." 

"  How,  then,  is  a  gentleman  to  know  what  it  is?  "  said  Mr. 
Arnold,  half  pettishly,  and  forgetting  that  his  knowledge  had 
not  extended  even  to  the  interpretation  of  the  name. 

"It  is  one  of  the  sciences,  true  or  false,  connected  with 
animal  magnetism." 

"  Bah  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Arnold,  rather  rudely. 

"You  would  have  said  so  if  you  had  heard  the  lecture," 
said  Funkelstein. 

The  conversation  had  not  taken  this  turn  till  quite  late  in 
the  dining  ceremony.  Euphra^  rose  to  go;  and  Hugh  re- 
marked that  her  face  was  dreadfully  pale.  But  she  walked 
steadily  out  of  the  room. 

This  interrupted  the  course  of  the  talk,  and  the  subject  was 
not  resumed.  Immediately  after  tea,  which  was  served  very 
soon,  Funkelstein  took  his  leave  of  the  ladies. 

'•  We  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  often  while  in  this  neighbor- 
hood," said  Mr.  Arnold,  as  he  bade  him  good-night. 

"  I  shall,  without  fail,  do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  again 
soon,"  replied  he,  and  bowed  himself  out. 

Lady  Emily,  evidently  relieved  by  his  departure,  rose,  and, 
approaching  Euphra,  said,  in  a  sweet,  coaxing  tone,  which 
even  she  could  hardly  have  resisted  :  — 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  209 

"  Dear  Miss  Cameron,  you  promised  to  sing,  for  me  in  par- 
ticular, some  evening.  May  I  claim  the  fulfilment  of  your 
promise?  " 

Euphra  had  recovered  her  complexion,  and  she,  too,  seemed 
to  Hugh  to  be  relieved  by  the  departure  of  Funkelstein. 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  rising  at  once.  "  What  sliall  1 
sing?  ■' 

Hugh  was  all  ear  now. 

"  Something  sacred,  if  you  please." 

Euphra  hesitated,  but  not  long. 

"  Shall  I  sing  Mozart's  '  Agnus  Dei,'  then  ?  " 

Lady  Emily  hesitated  in  her  turn. 

"  I  should  prefer  something  else.  I  don't  approve  of  sing- 
ing popish  music,  howevei;  beautiful  it  may  be."- 

"Well,  what  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  Something  of  Handel  or  Mendelssohn,  please.  Do  you 
sing,  'I  kuow  that  my  Redeemer  liveth  '  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  I  can  sing  it,"'  replied  Euphra,  with  some  petu- 
lance, and  Avent  to  the  piano. 

This  was  a  favorite  air  with  Hugh ;  and  he  placed  himself 
so  as  to  see  the  singer  without  being  seen  himself,  and  to  lose 
no  slightest  modulation  of  her  voice.  But  what  was  his  dis- 
appointment to  find  that  oratorio-music  was  just  what  Euphra 
was  incapable  of !  No  doubt  she  sang  it  quite  correctly  ;  but 
there  was  no  religion  in  it.  Not  a  single  tone  worshipped  or 
rejoiced.  The  quality  of  sound  necessary  to  express  the 
feeling  and  thought  of  the  composer  was  lacking ;  the  palace 
of  sound  was  all  right  constructed,  but  of  wrong  material. 
Euphra,  however,  was  quite  unconscious  of  failure.  She  did 
not  care  for  the  music  ;  but  she  .attributed  her  lack  of  interest 
in  it  to  the  music  itself,  never  dreaming  that,  in  fact,  she  had 
never  really  heard  it,  having  no  inner  ear  for  its  deeper 
harmonies.  As  soon  as  she  had  finished,  Lisdy  Emily  thanked 
her,  but  did  not  praise,  her  more  than  by  saying  :  — 

'•  I  wish  I  had  a  voice  like  yours.  Miss  Cameron." 

"  I  dare  say  you  have  a  better  of  your  own,"  said  Eupnra. 
falsely. 

Lady  Emily  laughed. 

"  It  is  the  poorest  little  voice  you  ever  heard;  yet  I  confess 
u 


210  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

I  jiin  glad,  for  my  own  sake,  that  I  have  even  that.     What 
should  I  Jo  if  I  never  heard  Handel !"' 

Every  simple  mind  has  a  little  well  of  beauty  somewhere  in 
its  precincts,  which  flows  and  Avarbles,  even  when  the  owner  is 
unheedful.  The  religion  of  Lady  Emily  had  led  her  into  a 
region  far  beyond  the  reach  of  her  intellect,  in  which  there 
sprang  a  constant  fountain  of  sacred  song.  To  it  she  owed  her 
highest  moods. 

"Then  Handel  is  your  musician?"  said  Euphra.  "You 
should  not  have  put  mo  to  such  a  test.  It  was  very  unfair  of 
you,  Lady  Emily." 

Lady  Emily  laughed,  as  if  quite  amused  at  the  idea  of  hav- 
ing done  Euphra  any  wrong.     Euphra  added:  — 

"You  must  sing  now.  Lady  Emily.  You  cannot  refuse, 
after  the  admission  you  have  just  made." 

''  I  confess  it  is  only  fair ;  but  I  warn  you  to  expect  nothing." 

She  took  her  place  at  the  piano,  and  sang,  "  He  shall  feed 
jis  flock."  Her  health  had  improved  so  much  during  her  so- 
journ at  Arnstead,  that  when  she  began  to  sing,  the  quantity 
of  her  voice  surprised  herself;  but,  after  all,  it  was  a  poor  voice, 
and  the  execution,  if  clear  of  any  great  faults,  made  no  other 
pretence  to  merit.  Yet  she  effected  the  end  of  the  music,  the 
very  result  which  every  musician  would  most  desire,  Avherein 
Euphra  had  failed  utterly.  This  was  worthy  of  note,  and 
Hugh  was  not  even  yet  too  blind  to  perceive  it.  Lady  Emily, 
with  very  ordinary  intellect,  and  paltry  religious  opinions, 
yet  because  she  Avas  good  herself,  and  religious,  could,  in  the 
reproduction  of  the  highest  kind  of  music,  greatly  surpass  the 
spirited,  intellectual  musician,  whose  voice  was  as  superior  to 
hers  as  a  nightingale's  to  a  sparrow's,  and  whose  knowledge  of 
music,  and  musical  poAver  generally,  surpassed  hers  beyond  all 
comparison. 

It  must  be  allowed  for  Euphra,  that  she  seemed  to  have 
gained  some  perception  of  the  fact.  Perhaps  she  had  seen 
signs  of  emotion  in  Hugh's  face,  which  he  had  shaded  Avith  his 
hand  as  Lady  Emily  sang ;  or  perhaps  the  singing  produced 
in  her  a  feeling  Avhich  she  had  not  had  Avhen  singing  herself 
All  I  knoAV  is,  that  the  same  night  —  while  Hugh  was  walking 
up  and  down  his  room,  meditating  on  this  defect  of  Euphra's, 
and  yet  feeling  that  if  sLe  could  sing  only  devil's  music,  he  must 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  211 

love  her  —  a  tap  came  to  the  door,  which  made  him  start  with 
the  suggestion  of  the  former  mysterious  noises  of  a  simihir 
kiiid  ;  that  he  sprang  to  the  door ;  and  that,  instead  of  looking 
out  on  a  vacant  corridor,  as  he  all  but  anticipated,  he  saw 
Euphra  standing  there  in  the  dark,  who  said  in  a  whisper :  — 

"Ah!  you  do  not  love  me  any  longer,  because  Lady  Emily 
can  sing  psalms  better  than  lean  !  " 

There  was  both  pathos  and  spite  in  the  speech. 

"  Come  in,  Euphra." 

"No.  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  naughty  in  coming  here 
at  all." 

"Do  come  in.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something  about 
Funkelstein." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  about  him?  I  suppose  you  are 
jealous  of  him.  Ah  !  you  men  can  both  be  jealous  and  make 
jealous  at  the  same  moment."  A.  little  broken  sigh  followed. 
Hugh  answered :  — 

"  I  only  want  to  know  what  he  is." 

"  Oh  !  some  twentieth  cousin  of  mine." 

"  Mr.  Arnold  does  not  know  that?  " 

•'  Oh,  dear,  no  !  It  is  so  far  off  /can't  count  it.  In  fact,  I 
doubt  it  altogether.     It  must  date  centuries  back." 

"  His  intimacy,  then,  is  not  to  be  accounted  for  by  his  rela- 
tionship? " 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  I  thought  so.     Jealous  of  the  poor  count !  " 

"Count?" 

"  Oh,  dear  !  what  does  it  matter  ?  He  doesn't  like  to  be  called 
county  because  all  foreigners  are  counts  or  barons,  or  some- 
thing equally  distinguished.     I  oughtn't  to  have  let  it  out." 

"  Never  mind.     Tell  me  sometliing  about  him." 

"He  is  a  Bohemian.  I  met  him  first,  some  years  ago,  on 
the  continent." 

"Then  that  w^as  not  your  first  meeting, — at  Sir  Edward 
Laston's  ?  " 

"No." 

"  How  candid  she  is  !  "  thought  Hugh. 

' '  He  calls  me  his  cousin  ;  but  if  he  be  mine,  he  is  yet  more 
Mr.  Arnold's.  But  he  does  not  want  it  mentioned  yet.  I 
am  sure  I  don't  know  why." 

"Is  he  in  love  -with  you  ?  " 


212  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"How  can  I  tell  ?  "  she  answered,  archly.  "By  his  being 
very  jealous?  Is  that  the  way  to  know  Avhether  a  man  is 
in  love  with  one  ?  But  if  he  is  in  love  with  me,  it  does  not 
follow  that  I  am  in  love  with  him,  —  does  it?  Confess.  Am 
I  not  very  good  to  answer  all  your  impertinent  downright 
questions  ?  They  are  as  point  blank  as  the  church  catechism,  — 
mind,  I  don't  say  as  rude.  How  can  I  be  in  love  with  two 
at  — a  —  ?" 

She  seemed  to  check  herself.  But  Hugh  had  heard  enough 
— as  she  had  intended  he  should.  She  turned  instantly,  and 
sped,  surrounded  by  the  "  low,  melodious  thunder,"  of  her 
silken  garments,  to  her  own  door,  where  she  vanished  noise- 
lessly. 

"  What  care  I  for  oratorios?  "  said  Hugh  to  himself,  as  he 
put  the  light  out,  towards  morning. 

Where  was  all  this  to  end  ?  What  goal  had  Hugh  set  him- 
self ?  Could  he  not  go  away,  and  achieve  renown  in  one  of 
many  ways,  and  return  fit,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Avorld.  to  claim 
the  hand  of  Miss  Cameron  ?  But  would  he  marry  her  if  he 
could?  He  would  not  answer  the  question.  He  closed  the 
ears  of  his  heart  to  it,  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep.  He  slept, 
and  dreamed  of  Margaret  in  the  storm. 

A  few  days  passed  without  anything  occurring  sufSciently 
marked  for  relation.  Euphra  and  he  seemed  satisfied  without 
meeting  in  private.  Perhaps  both  were  afraid  of  carrying  it 
too  far ;  at  least,  too  far  to  keep  clear  of  the  risk  of  discovery, 
seeing  that  danger  was  at  present  greater  than  usual.  Mr. 
Arnold  continued  to  be  thoroughly  attentive  to  his  guests,  and 
became  more  and  more  devoted  to  Lady  Emily.  There  was 
no  saying  where  it  might  end ;  for  he  Avas  not  an  old  man  yet, 
and  Lady  Emily  appeared  to  have  no  special  admirers.  Arn- 
stead  was  such  an  abode,  and  surrounded  with  such  an  estate, 
as  tew  even  of  the  nobility  could  call  their  own.  And  a  remi- 
niscence of  his  first  wife  seemed  to  haunt  all  Mr.  Arnolds  con- 
templations of  Lady  Emily,  and  all  his  attentions  to  her.  These 
were  delicate  in  the  extreme,  evidently  bringing  out  the  best 
life  that  yet  remained  in  a  heart  that  was  almost  a  fossil.  Hugh 
made  some  fresh  efforts  to  do  his  duty  by  Harry,  and  so  far 
succeeded,  that  at  least  the  boy  made  some  progress  —  evident 
enough  to  the  moderate  expectations  of  his  father.     But  what 


DAVID    ELGINCROD.  213 

helped  Harrj  as  much  as  anything  was  the  motherly  kind- 
ness, even  tenderness,  of  good  Mrs.  Elton,  who  often  had  him 
to  sit  with  her  in  her  own  room.  To  her  he  generally  fled  for 
refuge,  when  he  felt  deserted  and  lonely. 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

MATERIALISM   alias    GHOST-HUNTING. 

Wie  der  Mond  sich  leuchtend  dranget 

Duich  den  dunkelii  Wolkenflor, 
Also  taucht  aus  dunkohi  Zcitea 
Mir  ein  lichtes  I3ild  hervor. 

Heinrich  Heine. 
As  the  moon  her  face  advances 

Through  the  darkened  cloudy  veil  ; 
■  So,  from  darkened  times  arising, 

Dawns  on  me  a  vision  pJile. 

In  consequence  of  what  Euphra  had  caused  him  to  believe 
ffithout  saying  it,  Hugh  felt  more  friendly  towards  his  new 
icquaintance  ;  and  happening  —  on  his  side  at  least  it  did  liap^ 
pen  —  to  meet  him  a  few  days  after,  Avalking  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, he  joined  him  in  a  stroll.  Mr.  Arnold  met  them  on 
horseback,  and  invited  Von  Funkelstein  to  dine  with  them 
that  evening,  to  which  he  willingly  consented.  It  was  no- 
ticeable that  no  sooner  was  the  count  within  the  doors  of  Arn- 
stead  House,  than  he  behaved  with  cordiality  to  every  one  of 
the  company  except  Hugh.  With  him  he  made  no  approach 
to  familiarity  of  any  kind,  treating  him,  on  the  contrary,  with 
studious  politeness. 

In  the  course  of  the  dinner,  Mr.  Arnold  said  :  — 
"It  is  curious,  Herr  von  Funkelstein,  how  often,  if  you 
meet  with  something  new  to  you,  you  fall  in  with  it  again  al- 
most immediately.  I  found  an  article  on  biology  in  the 
newspaper,  the  very  day  after  our  conversation  on  the  subject. 
But  absurd  as  the  whole  thing  is,  it  is  quite  surpassed  by  a 
letter  in  to-day's  '  Times  '  about  spirit-rapping  and  mediums, 
and  what  not !  " 


214  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

This  observation  of  the  host  at  once  opened  the  whole  ques- 
tion of  those  physico-psychological  phenomena  to  which  tiie 
name  of  spiritualism  has  been  so  absurdly  applied.  Mr.  Ar- 
nold was  profound  in  his  contempt  of  the  whole  system,  if  not 
very  profound  in  his  arguments  against  it.  Every  one  luid 
something  to  remark  in  opposition  to  the  notions  which 
were  so  rapidly  gaining  ground  in  the  country,  except  Funk- 
elstein,  who  maintained  a  rigid  silence. 

This  silence  could  not  continue  long  without  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  rest  of  the  party ;  upon  which  Mr.  Arnold 
said :  — 

"  You  have  not  given  us  your  oj)inion  on  the  subject,  Herr 
von  Funkelstein." 

"I  have  not,  Mr.  Arnold;  I  should  not  like  to  encounter 
the  opposition  of  so  many  fair  adversaries,  as  well  as  of  my 
host." 

"We  are  in  England,  sir;  and  every  man  is  at  liberty  to 
say  what  he  thinks.  For  my  part,  I  think  it  all  absurd,  if 
not  improper." 

"  I  would  not  willingly  differ  from  you,  Mr.  Arnold.  And 
I  confess  that  a  great  deal  that  finds  its  way  into  the  public 
prints  does  seem  very  ridiculous  indeed ;  but  I  am  bound,  for 
truth's  sake,  to  say,  that  I  have  seen  more  than  I  can  account 
for,  in  that  kind  of  thing.  There  are  strange  stories  connected 
with  my  own  family,  which,  perhaps,  incline  me  to  believe  in 
the  supernatural ;  and,  indeed,  without  making  the  smallest 
pretence  to  the  dignity  of  what  they  call  a  medium,  I  have 
myself  had  some  curious  experiences.  I  fear  I  have  some 
natural  proclivity  towards  what  you  despise.  But  I  beg  that 
my  statement  of  my  own  feelings  on  the  subject  may  not  in- 
terfere in  the  least  with  the  prosecution  of  the  present  conver- 
sation ;  for  °I  am  quite  capable  of  drawing  pleasure  from  listen- 
ing to  what  I  am  unable  to  agree  Avith." 

"  But  let  us  hear  your  arguments,  strengthened  by  your 
facts,  in  opposition  to  ours ;  for  it  will  be  impossible  to  talk 
with  a  silent  judge  amongst  us,"  Hugh  ventured  to  say. 

"  I  set  up  for  no  judge,  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  assure  you  ;  and 
perhaps  I  shall  do  my  opinions  more  justice  by  remaining  si- 
lent, seeing  I  am  conscious  of  utter  inability  to  answer  the 
a  priori   arguments    which  you  in   particular    have  brought 


DAVID  j;lginbrod.  215 

against  tliem.  All  I  would  venture  to  saj  is,  that  an  a  pri- 
ori argument  maj  owe  its  force  to  a  mistaken  hypothesis  with 
regard  to  the  matter  in  question:  and  that  the  true  Baconian 
method,  which  is  the  glorj  of  your  English  philosophy,  would 
be  to  inquire  first  what  the  tiling  is,  by  recording  observa- 
tions and  experiments  made  in  its  supposed  direction." 

"At  least  Herr  von  Funkelstein  has  the  best  of  the  argu- 
ment now,  I  am  compelled  to  confess,"  said  Hugh. 

Funkelstein  bowed  stiffly,  and  was  silent. 

' '  You  rouse  our  curiosity, ' '  said  Mr.  Arnold  ;  ' '  but  I  fear, 
after  the  free  utterance  which  we  have  already  given  to  our 
own  judgments,  in  ignorance,  of  course,  of  your  greater  ex- 
perience, you  will  not  be  inclined  to  make  us  wiser  by  com- 
municating any  of  the  said  experience,  however  much  we  may 
desire  to  hear  it." 

■  Had  he  been  speaking  to  one  of  less  evident  social  standing 
than  Funkelstein,  Mr.  Arnold,  if  dying  with  curiosity,  Avould 
not  have  expressed  the  least  Avish  to  be  made  acquainted  with 
bis  experiences.  He  would  have  sat  in  apparent  indifference, 
but  in  real  anxiety  that  some  one  else  would  draw  him  out, 
and  thus  gratify  his  curiosity  without  endangering  his  dig- 
nity. .      _ 

"  I  do  not  think,"  replied  Funklestein,  "that  it  is  of  any 
use  to  bring  testimony  to  bear  on  such  a  matter.  I  have  seen, 
—  to  use  the  words  of  some  one  else,  I  forget  whom,  on  a  sim- 
ilar subject, —  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes  what  I  certainly 
should  never  have  believed  on  the  testimony  of  another.  Con- 
sequently, I  have  no  right  to  expect  that  my  testimony  should 
be  received.  Besides,  I  do  not  Avish  it  to  be  received,  although 
I  confess  I  shrink  from  presenting  it  with  a  certainty  of  its 
being  rejected.  I  have  no  wish  to  make  converts  to  my  opin- 
ions." 

"Really,  Herr  von  Funkelstein,  at  the  risk  of  your  consid- 
ering me  importunate,  I  Avould  beg  —  " 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Arnold.  The  recital  of  some  of  the  mat- 
ters to  which  you  refer,  Avould  not  only  be  painful  to  myself. 
but  would  be  agitating  to  the  ladies  present." 

"  In.  that  case,  I  have  only  to  beg  your  pardon  for  pressing 
the  matter,—  I  hope  jio  further  than  to  the  verge  of  incivil- 
ity." 


216  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"In  no  degree  approaching  it,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Arnold. 
In  proof  that  I  do  not  think  so,  I  am  ready,  if  jou  wish  it, — 
although  I  rather  dread  the  possible  effects  on  the  nerves  of 
the  ladies,  especiallj  as  this  is  an  old  house, —  to  repeat,  with' 
the  aid  of  those  present,  certain  experiments  which  I  have 
somtimes  found  perhaps  only  too  successful." 

"  Oh  !  don't,"  said  Euphra,  faintly. 

An  expression  of  the  opposite  desire  followed,  however,  from 
the  other  ladies.  Their  curiosity  seemed  to  strive  with  their 
fears,  and  to  overcome  them. 

"  I  hope  loe  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  in  any  other 
way  than  merely  as  spectators  ?  ' '  said  Mrs.  Elton. 

"  Nothing  more  than  you  please.  It  is  doubtful  if  you  can 
even  be  spectators.     That  remains  to  be  seen." 

'•'Good  gracious  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Elton. 

Lady  Emily  looked  at  her  with   surprise  —  almost  reproof, 

" I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear;  but  it  sounds  so  dreadful. 
What  can  it  be  ?  " 

"  Let  me  entreat  you,  ladies,  not  to  imagine  that  I  am  urg- 
ing you  to  anything,"  said  Funkelstein, 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  replied  Mrs.  Elton.  "  I  was  very  fool- 
ish."    And  the  old  lady  looked  ashamed,  and  was  silent. 

"  Then,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  make  one  small  prepa- 
ration.    Have  you  a  tool-chest  anywhere,  Mr.  Arnold?  " 

"  There  must  be  tools  enough  about  the  place,  I  know,  I 
will  ring  for  Atkins." 

"  I  know  where  the  tool-chest  is,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  and,  if  you 
will  allow  me  a  suggestion,  would  it  not  be  better  the  ser- 
vants should  know  nothing  about  this  ?  There  are  some  fool- 
ish stories  afloat  amongst  them  already." 

"A  very  proper  suggestion,  Mr.  Sutherland,"  said  Mr. 
Arnold,  graciously.  "  Will  you  find  all  that  is  wanted, 
then?" 

"  What  tools  do  3'ou  want?  "  asked  Hugh. 

"  Only  a  small  drill.  Could  you  get  me  an  earthenware 
plate  —  not  china  —  too  ?  " 

"  I  will  manage  that,"  said  Euphra, 

Hugh  soon  returned  with  the  drill,  and  Euphra  with  the 
plate.  The  Bohemian,  with  some  difficulty,  and  the  remark 
that  the  English  ware  was  very  hard,  drilled  a  small  hole  in 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  21? 

the  rim  of  the  plate, —  a  dinner-plate  ;  then  begging  an  H.  B. 
drawing-pencil  from  Miss  Cameron,  cut  off  a  small  piece,  and 
fitted  it  into  the  hole,  makino;  it  iust  lono;  enou^-h  to  touch  the 
table  with  its  point  when  the  plate  lay  in  its  ordinary  position. 

"  Now  I  am  ready,"  said  he.  "Bat,"  he  added,  raising 
his  head,  and  looking  all  round  the  room,  as  if  a  sudden 
thought  had  struck  him,  "  I  do  not  think  this  room  will  be 
quite  satisfactory." 

They  were  now  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Choose  the  room  in  the  house  that  will  suit  you,"  said 
Mr.  Arnold.      "  The  dining-room  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Funkelstein,  as  he  took  from  his 
watch-chain  a  small  compass  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  "  Not 
the  dining-room,  nor  the  breakfast-room  —  I  think.  Let  me 
see — how  is  it  situated?"  He  went  to  the  hall,  as  if  to, 
refresh  his  memory,  and  then  looked  again  at  the  compass. 
"  No,  not  the  breakfast-room." 

Hugh  could  not  help  thinking  there  was  more  or  less  of  the 
charlatan  about  the  man. 

"  The  library?  "  suggested  Lady  Emily. 

They  adjourned  to  the  library  to  see.  The  library  would 
do.  After  some  further  difficulty,  they  succeeded  in  procuring 
a  large  sheet  of  paper  and  fastening  it  down  to  the  table  by 
drawing-pins.  Only  two  candles  were  in  the  great  room,  and 
it  was  scarcely  lighted  at  all  by  them ;  yet  Funkelstein 
requested  that  one  of  these  should  be  extinguished,  and  the 
other  removed  to  a  table  near  the  door.  He  then  said, 
solemnly  :  — 

"Let  me  request  silence,  absolute  silence,  and  quiescence 
of  thought  even." 

After  stillness  had  settled  down  with  outspread  wings  of  in- 
tensity, he  resumed  :  — 

"  Will  any  one,  or,  better,  two  of  you,  touch  the  plate  as 
lightly  as  possible  with  your  fingers  ?  " 

All  hung  back  for  a  moment.  Then  Mr.  Arnold  came 
forward. 

"  I  will,"  said  he,  and  laid  his  fingers  on  the  plate. 

"As  lightly  as  possible,  if  you  please.  If  the  plate  moves, 
follow  it  with  your  fingers,  but  be  sure  not  to  push  it  in  any 
direction." 


218  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Arnold  ;  and  silence  fell  again. 

The  Bohemian,  after  a  pause,  spoke  once  more,  but  in  a 
foreign  tongue.  Tiie  words  sounded  first  like  entreaty,  then 
like  command,  and,  at  last,  almost  like  imprecation.  The  ladies 
shuddered. 

"  Any  movement  of  the  vehicle?  "  said  he  to  Mr.  Arnold. 

"If  by  the  vehicle  you  mean  the  plate,  certainly  not,"  said 
Mr.  Arnold,  solemnly.  But  the  ladies  were  very  glad  of  the 
pretext  for  attempting  a  laugh,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  op- 
pression which  they  had  felt  for  some  time. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Funkelstein,  solemnly.  "  Will  no  one  else 
touch  the  plate  as  Avell  ?  It  will  seldom  move  with  one.  It 
does  with  me.  But  I  fear  I  might  be  suspected  of  treachery, 
if  I  offered  to  join  Mr.  Ai-nold." 

"  Do  not  hint  at  such  a  thing.     You  are  beyond  suspicion." 

What  ground  Mr.  Arnold  had  for  making  such  an  assertion 
was  no  better  known  to  himself  than  to  any  one  else  present. 
Yon  Funkelstein,  without  another  word,  put  the  fingers  of  one 
hand  lightly  on  the  plate  beside  Mr.  Arnold's.  The  plate 
instantly  began  to  move  upon  the  paper.  The  motion  was  a 
succession  of  small  jerks  at  first ;  but  soon  it  tilted  up  a  little, 
and  moved  upon  a  changing  point  of  support.  Now  it  careered 
rapidly  in  wavy  lines,  sweeping  back  towards  the  other  side,  as 
often  as  it  approached  the  extremity  of  the  sheet,  the  men 
keeping  their  fingers  in  contact  with  it,  but  not  appearing  to 
influence  its  motion.  Gradually  the  motion  ceased.  Yon 
Funkelstein  Avithdrew  his  hand,  and  requested  that  the  other 
candle  should  be  lighted.  The  paper  was  taken  up  and  ex- 
amined. Nothing  could  be  discovered  upon  it  but  a  labyrinth 
of  wavy  and  sweepy  lines.  Funkelstein  pored  over  it  for  some 
minutes,  and  then  confessed  his  inability  to  make  a  single  letter 
out  of  it,  still  less  words  and  sentences,  as  he  had  expected. 

'•But,"  said  he,  "we  are  at  least  so  far  successful:  it 
moves.     Let  us  try  again.     Who  will  try  next?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Hugh,  Avho  had  refrained  at  first,  partly  from 
dislike  to  the  whole  afiair,  partly  because  he  shrank  from 
putting  himself  forward. 

A  new  sheet  of  paper  was  fixed.  The  candle  was  extin- 
guished. Hugh  put  his  fingers  on  the  plate.  In  a  second  or 
two,  it  began  to  move.  . 


'DAVID    ELGINBROD.  _  219 

'A  :heduim ! "  murmured  Funkelstein.  He  then  spoke 
aloud  some  words  unintelligible  to  the  rest. 

Whether  from  the  peculiarity  of  his  position  and  the  consequent 
excitement  of  his  imagination,  or  from  some  other  cause,  Hugh 
grew  quite  cold,  and  began  to  tremble.  The  plate,  which  had 
been  careering  violently  for  a  few  moments,  now  went  more 
slowlj,  making  regular  short  motions  and  returns,  at  right 
angles  to  its  chief  direction,  as  if  letters  were  being  formed  bj 
the  pencil.  Hugh  shuddered,  tliinking  he  recognized  the 
letters  as  they  grew.  The  writing  ceased.  The  candles  were 
brought.  Yes  ;  there  it  was  !  —  not  plain,  but  easily  decipher- 
able —  David  Elginhrod.     Hugh  felt  sick. 

Euphra,  looking  on  beside  him,  whispereil :  — 

"  What  an  odd  name  !     Who  can  it  mean?  " 

He  made  no  reply. 

Neither  of  the  other  ladies  saw  it;  for  Mrs.  Elton  had 
discovered,  the  moment  the  second  candle  was  lighted,  that 
Lady  Emily  was  either  asleep  or  in  a  faint.  She  was  soon  all 
but  satisfied  that  she  was  asleep. 

Hugh's  opinion,  gathered  from  what  followed,  was,  that  the 
Bohemian  had  not  been  so  intent  on  the  operations  with  the 
plate,  as  he  had  appeared  to  be  ;  and  that  he  had  been  employing 
part  of  his  energy  in  mesmerizing  Lady  Emily.  Mrs.  Elton, 
remembering  that  she  had  had  quite  a  long  Avalk  that  morning, 
was  not  much  alarmed.  Unwilling  to  make  a  disturbance,  she 
rang  the  bell  very  quietly,  and,  going  to  the  door,  asked  the 
servant  who  answered  it  to  send  her  maid  with  some  eau-de- 
cologne.  ]\Ieantime,  the  gentlemen  had  been  too  much  absorbed 
to  take  any  notice  of  her  proceedings,  and,  after  removing  the 
one  and  extinguishing  the  other  candle,  had  reverted  to  the 
plate.     Hugh  was  still  the  operator. 

Von  Funkelstein  spoke  again  in  an  unknown  tongue.  The 
plate  began  to  move  as  before.  After  only  a  second  or  two  of 
preparatory  gyration,  Hugh  felt  that  it  Avas  writing  Turrie- 
pujfit^  and  shook  from  head  to  foot. 

Suddenly,  in  the  middle  of  the  word,  the  plate  ceased  its 
motion,  and  lay  perfectly  still.  Hugh  felt  a  kind  of  surprise 
come  upon  him,  as  if  he  waked  from  an  unpleasant  dream,  and 
saw  the  sun  shining.     The  morbid  excitement  of  his  nervous 


220  .  DAVID    ELGINBROD, 

Bystem  had  sucldenlj  ceased,  and  a  healthful  sense  of  strength 
and  every-day  life  took  its  place. 

Simultaneously  with  the  stop|:ung  of  the  plate,  and  this  new 
feeling  "which  I  have  tried  to  describe,  llugh  involuntarily 
raised  his  eyes  towards  the  door  of  the  room.  In  the  all-but- 
darkness  between  him  and  the  door,  he  saw  a  pale,  beautiful 
face, —  a  ftice  only.  It  was  the  face  of  Margaret  Elginbrod  ; 
not,  however,  such  as  he  had  used  to  see  it  —  but  glorified. 
That  was  the  only  word  by  which  he  could  describe  its  new 
aspect.  A  mist  of  darkness  fell  upon  his  brain,  and  the  room 
swam  round  with  him.  But  he  Avas  saved  from  falling,  or  at- 
tracting attention  to  a  weakness  for  which  he  could  have  made 
no  excuse,  by  a  sudden  cry  from  Lady  Emily. 

"  See  !  see  !  "  she  cried,  wildly,  pointing  towards  one  of  the 
window^s. 

These  looked  across  to  another  part  of  the  house,  one  of  the 
oldest,  at  some  distance.  One  of  its  windows,  apparently  on 
the  first  floor,  shone  with  a  faint  bluish  light. 

All  the  company  had  hurried  to  the  window  at  Lady 
Emily's  exclamation. 

"  Who  ca7i  be  in  that  part  of  the  house  ?  "  said  Mr.  Arnold, 
angrily. 

"It  is  Lady  Eujohrasia's  window,"  said  Euphra,  in  a  Ioav 
voice,  the  tone  of  which  suggested,  somehow,  that  the  speaker 
was  very  cold. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  speaking  like  that  ?  "  said  Mr.  Ar- 
nold, forgetting  his  dignity.  "Surely  you  are  above  being 
superstitious.  Is  it  possible  the  servants  could  be  about  any 
mischief?  I  will  discharge  any  one  at  once  that  dares  go 
there. without  permission." 

The  light  disappeared,  fading  slowly  out. 

"Indeed,  the  servants  are  all  too  much  alarmed,  after  what 
took  place  last  year,  to  go  near  that  wing  —  much  less  that 
room,"  said  Euphra.  "Besides,  Mrs.  Horton  has  all  the 
keys  in  her  own  charge." 

"  Go  yourself  and  get  me  them,  Euphra.  I  will  see  at  once 
what  this  means.     Don't  say  why  you  want  them." 

"Certainly  not,  ancle." 

Hugh  had  recovered  almost  instantaneously.  Though  full 
of  amazement,  he  had  yet  his  perceptive  faculties  sufiiciently 


1 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  22] 

unimpaired  to  recognize  the  real  source  of  the  light  in  the  win- 
dow. It  seemed  to  him  more  like  moonlight  than  anything 
else ;  and  he  thought  the  others  would  have  seen  it  to  be  such, 
but  for  the  effect  of  Lady  Emily's  sudden  exclamation.  Per- 
haps she  was  under  the  influence  of  the  Bohemian  at  the  mo- 
ment. Certainly  they  were  all  in  a  tolerable  condition  for 
seeing  whatever  might  be  required  of  them.  True,  there  Avas 
no  moon  to  be  seen  ;  and  if  it  was  the  moon,  why  did  the  light 
go  out?  But  he  found  afterwards  that  he  had  been  right. 
The  house  stood  upon  a  rising  ground ;  and,  every  recurring 
cycle,  the  moon  would  shine,  through  a  certain  vista  of  trees 
and  branches,  upon  Lady  Euphrasia's  window ;  provided  there 
had  been  no  growth  of  twigs  to  stop  up  the  channel  of  the 
light,  which  was  so  narrow  that  in  a  few  moments  the  moon 
had  crossed  it.  A  gap  in  a  hedge,  made  by  a  bull  that  morn- 
ing, had  removed  the  last  screen.  Lady  Euphrasia's  window 
was  so  neglected  and  dusty,  that  it  could  reflect  nothing  more 
than  a  dim  bluish  shimmer. 

"Will  you  all  accompany  me,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that 
you  may  see  with  .your  own  eyes  that  there  is  nothing  danger- 
ous in  the  house  ?  ' '  said  Mr.  Arnold- 

Of  course  Funkelstein  was  quite  ready,  and  Hugh  as  well, 
although  he  felt  at  this  moment  ill-fitted  for  ghost-hunting. 
The  ladies  hesitated ;  but  at  last,  more  afraid  of  being  left 
behind  alone  than  of  going  with  the  gentlemen,  they  consented. 
Euphra  brought  the  keys,  and  they  commenced  their  march  of 
investigation.  Up  the  grand  staircase  they  went,  ]\Ir.  Arnold 
first  with  the  keys,  Hugh  next  with  Mrs.  Elton  and  Lady 
Emily,  and  the  Bohemian,  considerably  to  Hugh's  dissatisfiic- 
tion,  bringing  up  the  rear  with  Euphra.  This  misarrange- 
ment  did  more  than  anything  else  could  have  done,  to  deaden 
for  the  time  .the  distraction  of  feeling  produced  in  Hugh's 
mind  by  the  events  of  the  last  few  minutes.  Yet  even  now  he 
seemed  to  be  wanderinu;  through  the  old  house  in  a  dream,  in- 
stead of  following  Mr.  Arnold,  whose  presence  might  well 
have  been  sufficient  to  destroy  any  illusion,  except  such  as  a 
Chinese  screen  might  superinduce  ;  for,  possessed  of  far  less 
imagination  than  a  horse,  he  was  incapable  of  any  terrors,  but 
such  as  had  to  do  with  robbers,  or  fire,  or  chartists,  —  which 
latter  fear  included  both  the  former.     He  strode  on  securely, 


222  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

carrjing  a  candle  in  one  hand,  and  tlie  keys  in  the  other. 
Each  of  the  other  gentlemen  likewise  bore  a  light.  They  had 
to  go  through  various  doors,  some  locked,  some  open,  following 
a  diifercnt  route  from  that  taken  by  Euphra  on  a  former  occa- 
sion. 

Put  Mr.  Arnold  found  the  keys  troublesome.  lie  could  not 
easily  distinguish  those  he  \vanted,  and  was  compelled  to  apply 
to  Euphra.  She  left  Funkelstein  in  consequence,  and  walked 
in  front  with  her  uncle.  Her  former  companion  got  beside 
Lady  Emily,  and  as  they  could  not  well  walk  four  abreast,  she 
fell  behind  with  him.  So  Hugh  got  next  to  Euphra,  behind 
her,  and  was  comforted. 

At  length,  by  tortuous  ways,  across  old  rooms,  and  up  and 
down  abrupt  little  stairs,  they  reached  the  door  of  Lady  Eu- 
phrasia's  room.  The  key  was  found,  and  the  door  opened  with 
some  perturbation,  —  manifest  on  the  part  of  the  ladies,  and 
concealed  on  the  part  of  the  men.  The  place  was  quite  dark. 
They  entered  ;  and  Hugh  was  greatly  struck  with  its  strange 
antiquity.  Lady  Euphrasia's  ghost  had  driven  the  last  oc- 
cupant out  of  it  nearly  a  hundred  years. ago;  but  most  .of 
the  furniture  was  much  older  than  that,  having  probably  be- 
longed to  Lady  Euphrasia  herself  The  room  remained  just 
as  the  said  last  occupant  had  left  it.  Even  the  bedclothes  re- 
mained, folded  down,  as  if  expecting  their  occupant  for  the 
last  hundred  years.  The  fine  linen  had  grown  yellow ;  and 
the  rich  counterpane  lay  like  a  church-yard  after  the  resurrec- 
tion, full  of  the  open  graves  of  the  liberated  moths.  On  the 
wall  hung  the  portrait  of  a  nun  in  convent-attire. 

"  Some  have  taken  that  for  a  second  portrait  of  Lady  Eu- 
phrasia," said  Mr.  Arnold;  " but  it  cannot  he.  —  Euphra,  we 
will  go  back  through  the  picture  gallery.  —  I  suspect  it  of  orig- 
inating the  tradition  that  Lady  Euphrasia  became  a  nun  at 
last.  I  do  not  believe  it  myself.  The  picture  is  certainly  old 
enough  to  stand  for  her,  but  it  does  not  seem  to  me  in  the 
least  like  the  other." 

It  was  a  great  room,  with  large  recesses,  and  therefore  ir- 
regular in  form.  Old  chairs,  with  remnants  of  enamel  and 
gilding;,  and  seats  of  faded  damask,  stood  all  about.  But  the 
beauty  of  the  chamber  was  its  tapestry.  The  walls  were  en- 
tirely coyt^red  wuth  it,  and  the  rich  colors  had  not  yet  receded 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  223 

into  the  dull  graj  of  the  past,  though  their  gorgeousuess  had 
become  sombre  with  age.  The  subject  was  the  story  of  Sam- 
sou. 

"Come  and  see  this  strange  piece  of  furniture,"  said  Eu- 
phra  to  Hugh,  who  had  kept  by  her  side  since  they  entered 
this  room. 

She  led  him  into  one  of  the  recesses,  almost  concealed  by 
the  bed-hangings.  In  it  stood  a  cabinet  of  ebony,  reaching 
nearly  to  the  ceiling,  curiously  carved  in  high  relief. 

"  I  wish  I  could  show  you  the  inside  of  it,"  she  went  on. 
"but  I  cannot  now." 

This  was  said  almost  in  a  whisper.  Hugh  replied  with  only 
a  look  of  thanks.  He  gazed  at  the  carving,  on  whose  black 
surface  his  candle  made  little  light,  and  threw  no  shadows. 

"  You  have  looked  at  this  before,  Euphra,"  said  he.  "  Ex- 
plain it  to  me." 

"I  have  often  tried  to  find  out  what  it  is,"  she  answered;' 
"  but  I  never  could  quite  satisfy  myself  about  it." 

She  proceeded,  however,  to  tell  hira  what  she  fancied  it 
mi^dit  mean,  speakinsr  still  in  the  low  tone  which  seemed  suita- 
ble  to  the  awe  of  the  place.  She  got  interested  in  showing 
him  the  relations  of  the  different  figures  ;  and  he  made  sev- 
eral suggestions  as  to  the  possible  intention  of  the  artist. 
More  than  one  well-known  subject  was  proposed  and  rejected. 

Suddenly  becoming  aware  of  the  sensation  of  silence,  they 
looked  up,  and  saw  that  theirs  was  the  only  light  in  the  room. 
They  were  left  alone  in  the  haunted  chamber.  They  looked 
at  each  other  for  one  moment,  then  said,  with  half-stifled 
voices :  — 

"  Euphra  !  " 

"Hugh!" 

Euphra  seemed  half  amused  and  half  perplexed.  Hugh 
looked  half  perplexed  and  wholly  pleast-d. 

"Come,  come,"  said  Euphra,  recovering  herself,  and  lead- 
ing the  way  to  the  door. 

When  they  reached  it,  they  found  it  closed  and  locked. 
Euphra  raised  her  hand  to  beat  on  it.     Hugh  caught  it. 

"You  will  drive  Lady  Emily  into  fits  Did  you  not  see 
how  awfully  pale  she  was  ?  " 

Euphra  instantly  lifted  her  hand  again,  as  if  she  would  just 


224  DAVID    ELGINBROD.    , 

like  to  try  that  result.  But  Hugh,  who  was  in  no  haste  for 
any  result,  held  her  back. 

She  struggled  for  a  moment  or  two,  but  not  very  stren- 
uously, and,  desisting  all  at  once,  let  her  arms  drop  by  her 
sides. 

"I  fear  it  is  too  late.  This  is  a  double  door,  and  Mr. 
Arnold  will  have  locked  all  the  doors  between  this  and  the 
picture-gallery.     They  are  there  now.     What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

She  said  this  with  an  expression  of  comical  despair,  Avhich 
would  have  made  Hugh  burst  into  laughter,  had  he  not  been 
too  much  pleased  to  laugh. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said,  "  we  will  go  on  with  our  study  of 
the  cabinet.  They  will  soon  find  out  that  we  are  left  behind, 
and  come  back  to  look  for  us." 

"  Yes,  but  only  fancy  being  found  here  !  " 

She  laughed  ;  but  the  laii2;h  did  not  succeed.  It  could  not 
hide  a  real  embarrassment.  She  pondered,  and  seemed  irres- 
olute. Then,  with  the  words,  "  They  will  say  we  stayed 
behind  on  purpose,"  she  moved  her  hand  to  the  door,  but 
again  withdrew  it,  and  stood  irresolute. 

"Let  us  put  out  the  light,"  said  Hugh,  laughing,  "and 
make  no  answer." 

"  Can  you  starve  well  ?  " 

"With  you." 

She  murmured  something  to  herself;  then  said  aloud  and 
hastily,  as  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  by  the  compulsion  of 
circumstances  :  — 

"  But  this  won't  do.  They  are  still  looking  at  the  portrait, 
I  dare  say.     Come." 

So  saying,  she  went  into  another  recess,  and,  lifting  a 
curtain  of  tapestry,  opened  a  door. 

"Come  quick,"  she  said.    • 

Hugh  followed  her  down  a  short  stair  into  a  narrow  passage, 
nowhere  lighted  from  the  outside.  The  door  Avent  to  behind 
them,  as  if  some  one  had  banged  it  in  anger  at  their  intrusion. 
The  passage  smelt  very  musty,  and  was  as  quiet  as  death. 

"  Not  a  word  of  this,  Hugh,  as  you  love  me.  It  may  be 
useful  yet." 

"  Not  a  word." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  22.' 

They  came  tlirough  a  sliding  panel  into  an  empty  room 
Euphra  closed  it  behind  them. 

"  Now  shade  your  light." 

He  did  so.  She  took  him  by  the  hand.  A  few  more  turns 
brought  them  in  sight  of  the  lights  of  the  rest  of  the  party. 
As  Euphra  had  conjectured,  they  were  looking  at  the  picture 
of  Lady  Euphrasia,  Mr.  Arnold  prosing  away  to  them,  in 
proof  that  the  nun  could  not  be  she.  They  entered  the 
gallery  Avithout  being  heard;  and  parting  a  little  way,  one 
pretending  to  look  at  one  picture,  the  other  at  another,  crept 
gradually  round  till  they  joined  the  group.  It  Avas  a  piece  of 
most  successful  generalship.  Euphra  was,  doubtless,  quite 
prepared  with  her  story  in  case  it  should  fail. 

' '  Dear  Lady  Emily, ' '  said  she,  ' '  hoAV  tired  you  look  !  D« 
let  us  go,  uncle." 

"  By  all  means.  Take  my  arm,  Lady  Emily.  Euphra, 
will  you  take  the  keys  again,  and  lock  the  doors  ?  " 

Mrs.  Elton  had  already  taken  Hugh's  arm,  and  was  leading 
him  away  after  Mr.  Arnold  and  Lady  Emily. 

' '  I  will  not  leave  you  behind  Avith  the  spectres,  Miss  Cam- 
eron," said  Funkelstein.  , 

"Thank  you;  they  will  not  detain  me  long.  They  don't 
mind  being  locked  up." 

It  was  some  little  time,  howcA^er,  before  they  presented 
themselves  in  the  drawir  g-room,  to  which,  and  not  to  the 
library,  the  party  had  go'Xe :  they  had  had  enough  of  horrors 
for  that  night. 

Lest  my  readers  should  think  they  have  had  too  many 
wonders  at  least,  I  Avill  explain  one  of  them.  It  was  really 
Margaret  Elo-inbrod  whom  Hu2:h  had  seen.  Mrs.  Elton  was 
the  lady  in  whose  service  she  had  left  her  home.  It  was 
nothing  strange  that  they  had  not  met,  for  Margaret  knew 
he  was  in  the  same  house,  and  had  several  times  seen  him,  but 
had  avoided  meeting  him.  Neither  was  it  a  wonderful  coinci- 
dence that  they  should  be  in  such  close  proximity ;  for  the 
college  friend  from  whom  Huo-h  had  first  heard  of  Mr.  Arnold, 
was  the  son  of  the  gentleman  Avhom  Mrs.  Elton  was  visitmg, 
when  she  first  saw  Margaret. 

Margaret  had  -obeyed  her  mistress'  summons  to  the  draAV- 
ing-room,  and  had  entered  while  Hugh  was  stooping  over  the 

15 


l226  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

pLate.  As  the  room  was  nearly  dark,  and  she  was  dressed  in 
black,  her  palo  face  alone  caught  the  light  and  his  eye  as  he 
looked  up,  and  the  giddiness  which  followed  had  prevented  him 
from  seeing  more.  She  left  the  room  the  next  moment,  while 
they  were  all  looking  out  of  the  window.  Nor  was  it  any 
exercise  of  his  excited  imagination  that  had  presented  her  face 
as  glorified.  She  was  now  a  woman :  and,  there  being  no 
divine  law  against  saying  so,  I  say  that  she  had  grown  a  lady 
as  well ;  as  indeed  any  one  might  have  foreseen  who  was  capa- 
ble of  foreseeing  it  Her  whole  nature  had  blossomed  into  a 
still,  stately,  lily-like  beauty ;  and  the  face  that  Hugh  saw 
was  indeed  the  realized  idea  of  the  former  face  of  Margaret. 

But  how  did  the  plate  move  ?  and  whence  came  tiie  writing 
of  old  David's  name  ?  I  must,  for  the  present,  leave  the  whole 
matter  to  the  speculative  power  of  each  of  my  readers. 

But  Margaret  was  in  mourning.     Was  David  indeed  dead? 

He  was  dead.  Yet  his  name  will  stand  as  the  name  of  mj 
story  for  pages  to  come ;  because,  if  he  had  not  been  in  it.  the 
story  would  never  have  been  worth  writing ;  because  the  in- 
fluence of  that  ploughman  is  the  salt  of  the  whole  ;  because  a 
man's  life  in  the  earth  is  not,  to  be  measured  by  the  time  he  is 
visible  upon  it ;  and  because,  when  the  story  is  Avound  up,  it 
will  be  in  the  presence  of  his  spirit. 

Do  I  then  believe  that  David  liimself  did  write  that  name 
of  his  ? 

Heaven  forbid  that  any  friend  of  mine  should  be  able  to  be- 
lieve it ! 

Long  before  she  saw  him,  Margaret  had  known,  from  what 
she  heard  among  the  servants,  that  iJaster  Harry's  tutor  could 
be  no  other  than  her  own  tutor  of  the  old  time.  By  and  by 
she  learned  a  great  deal  about  him  from  Harry's  talk  with 
Mrs.  Elton  and  Lady  Emily.  But  she  did  not  give  the  least 
hint  that  she  knew  him,  or  betray  the  least  desire  to  see  him. 

Mrs.  Elton  was  amusingly  bewildered  by  the  occurrences 
of  the  evening.  Her  theories  were  sornetliing  astounding ; 
and  followed  one  another  with  such  alarming  rapidity,  that  had 
they  been  in  themselves  such  as  to  imply  the  smallest  exercise 
of  the  thinking  faculty,  she  might  well  have  been  considered  in 
danger  of  an  attack  of  brain  fever.  As  it  was,  none  such 
supervened.     Lady  Emily  said  nothing,  but  seemed  unhappy. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  227 

As  for  Hugh,  he  simply  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of  the 
\vritin<T.  But  he  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt  that  the  vision 
he  had  seen  was  only  a  vision,  —  a  home-made  ghost,  sent  out 
from  his  own  creative  brain.  Still  he  felt  that  Margaret's 
face,  come  whence  it  might,  was  a  living  reproof  to  him ;  for 
he  was  losing  his  life  in  passion,  sinking  deeper  in  it  day  by 
diiy.  His  powers  were  deserting  him.  Poetiy.  usually  sup- 
posed to  be  the  attendant  of  love,  had  deserted  him.  Only  by 
fits  could  he  see  anything  beautiful ;  and  then  it  was  but  in 
closest  association  of  thouo;ht  with  the  oneima2;e  which  was  burn- 
ing  itself  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  mental  sensorium.  Come 
what  might,  he  could  not  tear  it  away.  It  had  become  a  part  of 
himself, — of  his  inner  life,  —  even  while  it  seemed  to  be 
working  the  death  of  life.  Deeper  and  deeper  it  would  burn, 
till  it  reached  the  innermost  chamber  of  life.     Let  it  burn. 

Yet  he  felt  that  he  could  not  trust  her.     Vague  hopes  he 
had,  that,-  by  trusting,  she  might  be  made  trustworthy  ;  but  he- 
feared  they  were  vain  as  well  as  vague.     And  yet  he  would 
not  cast  them  away,  for  he  could  not  cast  her  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

MORE    MATERIALISM   AND    SOME    SPIRITUALISM. 

Qoil  wisheth  none  should  wreck  on  a  strange  shelf : 
To  Him  man's  dearer  than  to  himself. 

Ben  Jonson.  —  The  Forest:    To  Sir  Robert  Wroth. 

At  breakfast  the  following  morning",  the  influences  of  the 
past  day  on  the  family  were  evident.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  excitement,  alternated  with  listlessness.  The  moral  atmos- 
phere seemed  unhealthy ;  and  Harry,  although  he  had,  fortu- 
nately for  him,  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  manifestations  of 
the  previous  evening,  was  affected  by  the  condition  of  those 
around  him.  Hugh  was  still  careful  enough  of  him  to  try  to 
divert  the  conversation  entirely  from  what  he  knew  would  have 
a  very  injurious  effect  upon  him ;  and  Mr.  Arnold,  seeing  the 


228  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

anxious  way  in  which  he  glanced  now  and  then  at  his  pupil, 
and  divining  the  reason,  by  tlio  instinct  of  his  affection,  with 
far  more  than  his  usual  acuteness,  tried  likewise  to  turn  it 
aside,  as  often  as  it  inclined  that  way.  Still  a  few  words  were 
let  fall  by  the  visitors,  which  made  Harry  stare.  Hugh  took 
him  away  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over. 

In  the  afternoon,  Funkelstein  called  to  inquire  after  the 
ladies;  and  hoped  he  had  no  injury  to  their  health  to  lay  on 
his  conscience.  Mr.  Arnold,  who  had  a  full  allowance  of 
curiosity,  its  amount  being  frequently  in  an  inverse  ratio  to 
that  of  higher  intellectual  gifts,  begged  him  to  spend  the  rest 
of  the  day  Avith  them ;  but  not  to  say  a  word  of  what  had 
passed  the  day  before,  till  after  Harry  had  retired  for  the 
night. 

Renewed  conversation  led  to  renewed  experiments  in  the 
library.  Hugh,  however,  refused  to  have  anything  more  to 
do  with  the  plate-writing ;  for  he  dreaded  its  influe»ce  on  his 
physical  nature,  attributing:,  as  I  have  said,  the  vision  of 
Margaret  to  a  cerebral  aifection.  And  the  plate  did  not  seem 
to  work  satisfactorily  with  any  one  else,  except  Funkelstein, 
who,  for  his  part,  had  no  great  wish  to  operate.  Recourse 
was  had  to  a  more  vulgar  method,  that  of  expectant  solicita- 
tion of  those  noises  whereby  the  prisoners  in  the  aerial  vaults 
are  supposed  capable  of  communicating  with  those  in  this 
earthly  cell.  Certainly,  raps  were  heard  from  some  quarter  or 
another ;  and  when  the  lights  were  extinguished,  and  the  cres- 
cent moon  only  allowed  to  shine  in  the  room,  some  commotion 
was  discernible  amongst  the  furniture.  Several  light  articles 
flew  about.  A  pen-wiper  alighted  on  Euphra's  lap,  and  a 
sofa-pillow  gently  disarranged  Mrs.  Elton's  cap.  Most  of  the 
artillery,  however,  Avas  directed  against  Lady  Emily ;  and  she 
it  was  who  saw,  in  a  faint  stream  of  moonlight,  a  female  arm 
uplifted  towards  her,  from  under  a  table,  with  a  threatening 
motion.  It  was  bare  to  the  elbow,  and  draped  above.  It 
showed  first  a  clenched  fist,  and  next  an  open  hand,  palm  out- 
wards, making  a  repellent  gesture.  Then  the  back  of  the 
band  was  turned,  and  it  motioned  her  away,  as  if  she  had  been 
an  importunate  beggar.  But  at  this  moment,  one  of  the 
doors  opened,  and  a  dark  figure  passed  through  the  room 
towards  the  opposite  door.     Everything  that  could  be  called 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  229 

• 

ghostly  ceased  instantaneously.  The  arm  vanished.  The 
company  breathed  more  freely. 

Lady  Emily,  who  had  been  on  the  point  of  going  into  hyster- 
ics, recovered  herself,  and  overcame  the  still  lingering  impulse  ; 
she  felt  as  if  she  had  awaked  from  a  momentary  aberration  of 
the  intellect.  Mr.  Arnold  proceeded  to  light  the  candles,  say- 
ieo;,  in  a  rifjhteous  tone  :  — 

"  I  think  we  have  had  enough  of  this  nonsense." 

When  the  candles  were  lighted,  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen 
in  the  room  besides  themselves.  Several,  Hugh  amongst  them, 
had  observed  the  figure;  but  all  had  taken  it  for  part  of  the 
illusive  phantasmagoria.  Hugh  would  have  concluded  it  a 
variety  of  his  vision  of  the  former  night :  but  others  had  seen 
it  as  well  as  he. 

There  was  no  renewal  of  the  experiments  that  night.  But 
all  were  in  a  very  unhealthy  state  of  excitement.  Vague 
fear,  vague  wonder,  and  a  certain  indescribable  oppression,  had 
dimmed  for  the  time  all  the  clearer  vision,  and  benumbed  all 
the  nobler  faculties  of  the  soul.  Lady  Emily  was  affected  the 
most.  Her  eyes  looked  scared :  there  was  a  bright  spot  on 
one  cheek  amidst  deathly  paleness ;  and  she  seemed  very  un- 
happy. Mrs.  Elton  became  alarmed,  and  this  brought  her 
back  to  a  more  rational  condition.  She  persuaded  Lady 
Emily  to  go  to  bed. 

But  the  contagion  spread;  and  indistinct  terrors  were  no 
longer  confined  to  the  upper  portions  of  the  family.  The 
bruit  revived,  which  had  broken  out  a  year  before,  —  that  the 
house  was  haunted.  It  was  whispered  that,  the  very  night 
after  these  occurrences,  the  Ghost" s  Walk  had  been  in  use  as 
the  name  signified ;  a  figure  in  death-garments  had  been  seen 
gliding  along  the  deserted  avenue,  by  one  of  the  maid-ser- 
vants ;  the  truth  of  whose  story  was  corroborated  by  the  fact, 
that,  to  support  it,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  confess  that  she  had  es- 
caped from  the  house,  nearly  at  midnight,  to  meet  one  of  the 
grooms  in  a  part  of  the  wood  contiguous  to  the  avenue  in 
question.  Mr.  Arnold  instantly  dismissed  her,  —  not  on  the 
ground  of  the  intrigue,  he  took  care  to  let  her  know,  although 
that  was  bad  enough,  but  because  she  was  a  fool,  and  spread 
absurd  and  annoying  reports  about  the  house.  Mr.  Arnold's 
usual   hatred  of  what  he  called  superstition  was  rendered  yet 


230  DAVID    ELGINBROI). 

more  spiteful  by  the  fact  that  the  occurrences  of  the  week  had 
had  Pjuch  an  effect  on  his  own  mind  that  he  was  mortally  afraid 
lest  he  should  himself  sink  into  the  same  limbo  of  vanity. 
The  girl,  however,  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  quite  satisfied  with 
her  discharge,  protesting  she  would  not  have  stayed  for  the 
worli;  and  as  the  groom,  whose  wages  happened  to  have  been 
paid  the  day  before,  took  himself  off  the  same  evening,  it  may 
be  hoped  her  satisfaction  was  not  altogether  counterfeit. 

"If  all  tales  be  true,"  said  Mrs.  Elton,  "  Lady  Euphrasia 
is  where  she  can't  get  out." 

"  But  if  she  repented  before  she  died  ?  "  said  Euphra,  with 
a  muffled  scorn  in  her  tone. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Cameron,  do  you  call  hecoming  a  nun  — 
repentance?  We  Protestants  know  very  well  what  that 
means.     Besides,  your  uncle  does  not  believe  it." 

"Haven't  you  found  out  yet,  dear  Mrs.  Elton,  what  my 
uncle's  favorite  phrase  is?  " 

"No.     What  is  it?" 

"  I doiiH  believe  it.^^ 

"You  naughty  girl !  " 

"  I'm  not  naughty,"  answered  Euphra,  affecting  to  imi- 
tate the  simplicity  of  a  chidden  child.  My  uncle  is  so  fond  of 
casting  doubt  upon  everything !  If  salvation  goes  by  quan- 
tity, his  faith  won't  save  him." 

Euphra  knew  well  enough  that  Mrs.  Elton  was  no  telltale. 
The  good  lady  had  hopes  of  her  from  this  moment,  because  she 
all  but  quoted  Scripture  to  condemn  her  uncle ;  the  verdict 
corresponding  with  her  own  judgment  of  Mr.  Arnold,  founded 
on  the  clearest  assertions  of  Scripture  ;  strengthened  some- 
what, it  must  be  confessed,  by  the  fact  that  the  spirits^  on  the 
preceding  evening  but  one,  had  rapped  out  the  sentence : 
"  Without  faith  it  is  impossible  to  please  him." 

Lady  Emily  was  still  in  bed,  but  apparently  more  sick  in 
mind  than  in  body.  She  said  she  had  tossed  about  all  the  pre- 
vious night  without  once  falling  asleep ;  and  her  maid,  who 
had  slept  in  the  dressing-room  without  waking  once,  corrobo- 
rated the  assertion.  In  the  morning,  Mrs.  Elton,  wishing  to 
velievft  the  maid,  sent  Margaret  to  Lady  Emily.  Margaret 
arrang(Mi  the  bedclothes  and  pillows,  which  were  in  a  very 
uncomfortable  condition,   sat  down  behind  the  curtain,    and 


DAVID    ELGINBKOD.  231 

knowing  that  it  would  please  Lady  Emilj,  began  to  sing,  in 
what  the  French  call  a  veiled  voice,  "The  Land  o'  the  Leal." 
Now  the  air  of  this  lovely  song  is  the  same  as  that  of  "  Scots 
wha  hae  ;  "  but  it  is  the  inbrocli  of  onset  changed  into  the  cor- 
onach of  repose,  singing  of  the  land  beyond  the  battle,  of  the 
entering  in  of  those  who  have  fought  the  good  fight,  and 
fallen  in  the  field.  It  is  the  silence  after  the  thunder.  Be- 
fore she  had  finished,  Lady  Emily  was  fast  asleep.  A  sweet, 
peaceful,  half  smile  lighted  her  troubled  face  graciously,  like 
the  sunshine  that  creeps  out  when  it  can,  amidst  the  rain  of  an 
autumn  day,  saying,  "I  am  with  you  still,  though  we  are  all 
troubled."  Finding  her  thus  at  rest,  Margaret  left  the  room 
for  a  minute,  to  fetch  some  work.  When  she  returned,  she 
found  her  tossing  and  moaning,  and  apparently  on  the  point 
of  waking.  As  soon  as  she  sat  down  by  her,  her  trouble  di- 
minished by  degrees,  till  she  lay  in  the  same  peaceful  sleep  aa. 
before.  In  this  state  she  continued  for  two  or  three  hours, 
and  awoke  much  refreshed.  She  held  out  her  little  hand  to 
Margaret,  and  said  :  — 

' '  Thank  you.  Thank  you.  What  a  sweet  creature  you 
are  !  " 

And  Lady  Emily  lay  and  gazed  in  loving  admiration  at  the 
face  of  the  lady's-maid. 

"  Shall  I  send  Sarah  to  you  now,  my  lady?"  said  Mar- 
garet ;    "or  would  you  like  me  to  stay  with  you ?  " 

"  Oh  !  you,  you,  please  —  if  Mrs.  Elton  can  spare  you." 

"  She  will  only  think  of  your  comfort,  I  know,  my  lady." 

"  That  recalls  me  to  my  duty,  and  makes  me  think  of  her." 

"But  your  comfort  will  be  more  to  her  than  anything 
else." 

"In  that  case  you  must  stay,  Margaret." 

"With  pleasure,  my  lady." 

Mrs.  Elton  entered,  and  quite  confirmed  what  Margaret  had 
said. 

"  But,"  she  added,  "it  is  time  Lady  Emily  had  something 
to  eat.  Go  to  the  cook,  Margaret,  and  see  if  the  beef  tea 
Miss  Cameron  ordered  is  ready." 

Margaret  went. 

"  What  a  comfort  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Elton,  wishing  to  inter- 
est Lady  Emily,  "that  nowadays,  when  infidelity  is  soj*am- 


232  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

pant,  such  corroborations  of  Sacred  Writ  are  springing  up  on 
all  sides  !  Tlicre  are  the  discoveries  at  Nineveh ;  and  now 
these  Spiritual  Manifestations,  which  bear  witness  so  clearly 
to  another  world." 

But  Lady  Emily  made  no  reply.  She  began  to  toss  about 
as  before,  and  show  signs  of  inexplicable  discomfort.  Mar- 
garet had  hardly  been  gone  two  minutes,  when  the  invalid 
moaned  out :  — 

' '  What  a  time  Margaret  is  gone  !  —  when  Avill  she  be 
back  ?  " 

"  I  am  here,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Elton. 

"  Yes,  yes;  thank  you.      But  I  want  Margaret." 

"  She  will  be  here  presently.     Have  patience,  my  dear." 

"Please,  don't  let  Miss  Cameron  come  near  me.  lam 
afraid  I  am  very  wicked,  but  I  can't-  bear  her  to  come  neai 
me." 

"No,  no,  dear;  we  will  keep  you  to  ourselves." 

"Is  Mr.  ,  the  foreign  gentleman,  I  mean — below?" 

"  No.     He  is^one." 

"  Are  you  sure?     I  can  hardly  believe  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear?     I  am  sure  he  is  gone." 

Lady  Emily  did  not  answer.  Margaret  returned.  She 
took  the  beef  tea,  and  grew  quiet  again. 

"  You  must  not  leave  her  ladyship,  Margaret,"  whispered 
her  mistress.  "  She  has  taken  it  into  her  head  to  like  no  one 
but  you,  and  you  must  just  stay  with  her." 

"  Very  well,  ma'am.     I  shall  be  most  happy." 

Mrs.  Elton  left  the  room.     Lady  Emily  said  :  — 

"  Read  something  to  me,  Margaret." 

"AVhat  shall  I  read?" 

"  Anything  you  like." 

Margaret  got  a  Bible,  and  read  to  her  one  of  her  father's 
favorite  chapters,  the  fortieth  of  Isaiah. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  trust  in  God.  Margaret." 

"  Why,  my  lady  ?  " 

"  Because  I  do  not  feel  any  faith  in  him;  and  you  know  we 
cannot  be  accepted  without  faith."     . 

"  That  is  to  make  God  as  changeable  as  we  are,  my  lady." 

"  But  the  Bible  says  so." 


DAVID    ELGIXBROD.  233 

"  I  don't  think  it  does  ;  but  if  an  angel  from  heaven  said  so 
I  -would  not  believe  it." 

"  Margaret !  " 

''  My  ladj,  I  love  God  -with  all  mj  heart,  and  I  cannot  bear 
you  should  think  so  of  him.  You  might  as  well  say  that  a 
mother  would  go  away  from  her  little  child,  lying  moaning  in 
the  dark,  because  it  could  not  see  her,  and  was  afraid  to  put 
its  hand  out  into  the  dark  to  feel  for  lier." 

'•  Then  you  think  he  does  care  for  us,  even  when  we  are 
very  wicked.     But  he  cannot  bear  wicked  people." 

'•  Who  dares  to  say  that  ?  "  cried  Margaret.  "  Has  he  not 
been  making  the  world  go  on  and  on,  with  all  the  wickedness 
that  is  in  it ;  yes,  making  new  babies  to  be  born  of  thieves  and 
murderers  and  sad  women  and  all,  for  hundreds  of  years? 
God  help  us,  Lady  Emily  !  If  he  cannot  bear  wicked  people, 
then  this  world  is  hell  itself,  and  the  Bible  is  all  a  lie,  and  the^ 
Saviour  did  never  die  for  sinners.  It  is  only  the  holy  Phari- 
sees that  cant  bear  wicked  people." 

"  Oh  !  how  happy  I  should  be,  if  that  were  true  !  I  should 
not  be  afraid  now." 

"You  are  not  wicked,  dear  Lady  Emily;  but  if  you  were, 
God  would  bend  over  you,  trying  to  get  you  back,  like  a  fathei 
over  his  sick  child.  Will  people  never  believe  about  the  losi 
sheep?  " 

••  Oh  !  yes  ;  I  believe  that.     But  then  —  " 

"  Y^u  can't  trust  it  quite.  Trust  in  God,  then,  the  very 
father  of  you  —  and  never  mind  the  words.  You  have  been 
taught  to  turn  the  very  words  of  God  against  himself." 

Lady  Emily  was  weeping. 

'•  Lady  Emily,"  Margaret  went  on,  "  if  I  felt  my  heart  as 
hard  as  a  stone  ;  if  I  did  not  love  God,  or  man,  or  woman,  or 
little  child.  I  would  yet  sa}'  to  God  in  my  .heart,  '"O^Cbd,  see 
how  I  trust  thee,  because  thou  art  perfect,  and  not  changeable 
like  me.  I  do  not  love  thee.  I  love  nobody.  I  am  not  even 
sorry  for  it.  Thou  seest  how  much  I  need  thee  to  come  close 
to  me,  to  put  thy  arm  round  me,  to  say  to  me,  my  child  ;  for 
the  worse  my  state,  the  greater  my  need  of  my  father  who  loves 
me.  Come  to  me,  and  my  day  Avill  dawn.  My  beauty  and 
my  h>ve  will  come  back ;  and  oh  i  how  I  shall  love  thee,  my 


234  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

God  !  and  know  tliat  mj  love  is  thy  love,  my  blessedness  thy 
being.'" 

As  Margaret  spoke,  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  Lady 
Emily's  presence,  and  to  be  actually  praying.  Those  Avho 
cannot  receive  such  words  from  the  lips  of  a  lady's-maid  must 
be  reminded  what  her  father  was,  and  that  she  had  lost  him. 
She  had  had  advantages  at  least  equal  to  those  which  David 
the  Shepherd  had  —  and  he  wrote  the  Psalms. 

She  ended  with  :  — 

"  I  do  not  even  desire  thee  to  come,  yet  come  thou." 

She  seemed  to  pray  entirely  as  Lady  Emily,  not  as  Margaret. 
When  she  had  ceased,  Lady  Emily  said,  sobbing :  — 

"You  will  not  leave  me,  Margaret?  I  will  tell  you  why 
another  time." 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,  my  dear  lady." 

Margaret  stooped  and  kissed  her  forehead.  Lady  Emily 
threw  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  offered  her  mouth  to  be 
kissed  by  the  maid.  In  another  minute  she  was  fast  asleep, 
with  INIargaret  seated  by  her  side,  every  now  and  then  glancing 
up  at  her  from  her  work,  with  a  calm  face,  over  which  brooded 
the  mist  of  tears. 

That  night,  as  Hugh  paced  up  and  down  the  floor  of  his 
study  about  midnight,  he  was  awfully  startled  by  the  sudden 
opening  of  the  door  and  the  apparition  of  Harry  in  his  night- 
shirt, pale  as  death,  and  scarcely  able  to  articulate  the  words  :  — 

"  The  ghost  !  the  ghost  !  " 

He  took  the  poor  boy  in  his  arms,  held  him  fast,  and  com- 
forted him.      When  he  was  a  little  soothed, 

"0  Harry!"  he  said,  lightly,  "you've  been  dreaming. 
Where's  the  ghost?" 

"In  the  Ghost's  Walk,"  cried  Harry,  almost  shrieking 
anew  with  terror. 

"  How  do  you  knoAv  it  is  there  ?  " 

"  I  saw  it  from  my  window.  I  couldn't  sleep.  I  got  up 
and  looked  out, —  I  don't  know  why, —  and  I  saw  it !  I  saw 
it!" 

Tlie  words  were  followed  by  a  long  cry  of  terror. 

"  Come  and  show  it  to  me,"  said  Hugh,  wanting  to  make 
lisiht  of  it. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD,  235 

"No,  Tio,  Mr.  Sutherland  —  please  not.  I  couldu  t  go 
back  into  that  room." 

"Very  well,  dear  Harrj  ;  joa  shan't  go  back.  You  shall 
sleep  with  me  to-night." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  thank  you,  dear  Mr.  Sutherland.  You 
ivill  love  me  again,  won't  you?  " 

This  touched  Hugh's  heart.  He  could  hardly  refrain  from 
tears.  His  old  love,  bui'ied  before  it  was  dead,  revived.  He 
clasped  the  boy  to  his  heart,  and  carried  him  to  his  own  bed  ; 
then,  to  comfort  him,  undressed  and  lay  down  beside  him, 
without  even  going  to  look  if  he,  too,  might  not  see  the  ghost. 
She  had  brought  about  one  good  thing  at  least  that  night ; 
though,- 1  fear,  she  had  no  merit  in  it. 

Lady  Emily's  room  likewise  looked  out  upon  the  Ghost's 
Walk.  Margaret  heard  the  cry  as  she  sat  by  the  sleeping 
Emily ;  and,  not  knowing  whence  it  came,  went,  naturally 
enough,  in  her  perplexity,  to  the  window.  From  it  she  could 
see  distinctly,  for  it  was  clear  moonlight :  a  white  figure  went 
gliding  away  along  the  deserted  avenue.  She  immediately 
guessed  what  the  cry  had  meant ;  but  as  she  had  heard  a  door 
bang  directly  after  (as  Harry  shut  his  behind  him  with  a 
terrified  instinct,  to  keep  the  awful  Avindow  in),  she  was  not 
very  uneasy  about  him.  She  felt  besides  that  she  must  re- 
main where  she  was,  according  to  her  promise  to  Lady  Emily. 
But  she  resolved  to  be  prepared  for  the  possible  recurrence  of 
the  same  event,  and  accordingly  revolved  it  in  her  mind.  She 
was  sure  that  any  report  of  it  coming  to  Lady  Emily's  ears 
would  greatly  impede  her  recovery ;  for  she  instinctively  felt 
that  her  illness  had  something  to  do  with  the  questionable 
occupations  in  the  library.  Slie  watched  by  her  bedside  all 
the  night,  slumbering  at  times,  but  roused  in  a  moment  by  any 
restlessness  of  the  patient ;  when  she  found  that,  simply  by  laying 
her  hand  on  hers,  or  kissing  her  forehead^  she  could  restore  hei 
at  once  to  quiet  sleep. 


236  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    ghost's   walk. 

Thierry.  — 'Tis  full  of  fearful  shadows. 

Ordclla. —  So  is  sleep,  sir  ; 

Or  anything  that's  merely  ours,  and  mortal  ; 

AVe  wore  begotten  gods  else.     But  those  fears, 

Feeling  but  once  the  fires  of  nobler  thoughts, 

Fly,  like  the  shapes  of  clouds  we  form,  to  nothing. 

Beaumont  and  Flktcher.  —  Thierry  and  Theodoret. 

Margaret  sat  watching  tlie  waking  of  Ladj  Emilj. 
Knowing  •how  much  the  first  thought  colors  the  feeling  of  the 
whole  day,  she  wished  that  Ladj  Emilj  should  at  once  be 
aware  that  she  was  hy  her  side. 

She  opened  her  eyes,  and  a  smile  broke  over  her  face  when 
she  perceived  her  nurse.  But  Margaret  did  not  yet  speak  to 
her. 

Eveiy  nurse  should  remeraiber  that  waking  ought  always  to 
be  a  gradual  operation ;  and,  except  in  the  most  triumphant 
health,  is  never  complete  on  the  opening  of  the  eyes. 

"Margaret,  I  am  better,"  said  Lady  Emily,  at  last. 

"  I  am  very  glad,  my  lady." 

"  I  have  been  lying  aAvake  for  some  time,  and  I  am  sure  I 
am  better.  I  don't  see  strange-colored  figures  floating  about 
the  room  as  I  did  yesterday.  Were  you  not  out  of  the  room 
a  few  minutes  ago?  " 

"Just  for  one  moment,  my  lady." 

"  I  knew  it.  But  I  did  not  mind  it.  Yesterday,  when  you 
left  me,  those  figures  grew  ten  times  as  many,  the  moment 
you  were  gone.  But  you  will  stay  with  me  to-day.  too.  Mar- 
garet? "  she  added,  with  some  anxiety. 

"  I  will,  if  you  find  you  need  me.  But  I  muT/  be  forced  to 
leave  you  a  little  Avhile  this  evening,  — you  must  try  to  allow 
me  this,  dear  Lady  Emily." 

"  Of  course  I  will.  1  will  be  quite  patient,  I  promise  you, 
whatever  comes  to  me." 

When  Harry  woke,  after  a  very  troubled  sleep,  from  which 
he  had  often  started  with  sudden  cries  of  terror,  Hugh  made 
him  promise  not  to  increase  the  confusion  of  the  household,  by 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  237 

speaking  of  what  he  had  seen.  Harry  promised  at  once,  but 
begged  in  his  turn  that  Hugh  would  not  leave  him  all  day. 
It  did  not  need  the  pale,  scared  fiice  of  his  pupil  to  enforce  the 
re(|uest ;  for  Hugh  was  already  anxious  lest  the  fright  the  boy 
had  had  should  exercise  a  permanently  deleterious  effect  on 
his  constitution.  Therefore  he  hardly  let  him  out  of  his 
sight. 

But  although  Harry  kept  his  -word,  the  cloud  of  perturba- 
tion o;athered  thicker  in  the  kitchen  and  the  servants'  hall. 
Nothing  came  to  the  ears  of  their  master  and  mistress  ;  but 
gloomy  looks,  sudden  starts,  and  sidelong  glances  of  fear,  in- 
dicated the  prevailing  character  of  the  feelings  of  the  house- 
hold. 

And  although  Lady  Emily  was  not  so  ill,  she  had  not  yet 
taken  a  decided  turn  for  the  better,  but  appeared  to  suffer  from 
some  kind  of  low  fever.  The  medical  man  who  was  called Jn 
confessed  to  Mrs.  Elton,  that  as  yet  he  could  say  nothing  very 
decided  about  her  condition,  but  recommended  great  quiet  and 
careful  nursing.  Margaret  scarcely  left  her  room,  and  the  in- 
valid showed  far  more  than  the  ordinary  degree  of  dependence 
upon  her  nurse.  In  her  relation  to  her  she  was  more  like  a 
child  than  an  invalid. 

About  noon  she  was  better.  She  called  Margaret  and  said 
to  her :  — 

"Margaret,  dear,  I  should  like  to  tell  you  one  thing  that 
annoys  me  very  much." 

"  What  is  it,  dear  Lady  Emily  ?  " 

"  That  man  haunts  me.  I  cannot  bear  the  thought  of  him  ; 
and  yet  I  cannot  get  rid  of  him.  I  am  sure  he  is  a  bad  man. 
Are  you  certain  he  is  not  here?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  my  lady.  He  has  not  been  here  since  the 
day  before  yesterday." 

"  And  yet,  when  you  leave  me  for  an  instant,  I  always  feel 
as  if  he  were  sitting  in  the  very  seat  where  you  were  the  mo- 
ment before,  or  just  coming  to  the  door  and  about  to  open  it. 
That  is  why  I  cannot  bear  you  to  leave  me." 

Margaret  mi^rht  have  confessed  to  some  slioihter  sensations  of 
the  same  kind ;  but  they  did  not  oppress  her  as  they  did  Lady 
Emily. 

"  God  is  nearer  to  you  than  any  thought  or  feeling  of  yours, 


238  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Lady  Emily.  Do  not  he  afraid.  If  all  the  evil  things  in  the 
universe  were  around  us,  they  could  not  come  inside  the  ring 
that  he  makes  ahout  us.  He  always  keeps  a  place  for  himself 
and  his  child,  into  which  no  other  being  can  enter." 

"  Oh !   how  you  must  love  God,  Margaret !  " 

"  Indeed.  I  do  love  him,  my  lady.  If  ever  anything  looks 
beautiful  or  lovely  to  me,  then  I  know  at  once  that  God  is 
that." 

"But,  then,  what  right  have  we  to  take  the  good  of  that, 
however  true  it  is,  when  we  are  not  beautiful  ourselves  ?  " 

"That  only  makes  God  the  more  beautiful, — in  that  he 
will  pour  out  the  more  of  his  beauty  upon  us  to  make  us  beau- 
tiful. If  we  care  for  his  glory,  we  shall  be  glad  to  believe  all 
this  about  him.  But  we  are  too  anxious  about  feeling  good 
ourselves,  to  rejoice  in  his  perfect  goodness.  I  think  we 
should  find  that  enough,  my  lady.  For,  if  he  be  good,  are  not 
we  his  children,  and  sure  of  having  it,  not  merely  feeling  it, 
some  day?  " 

Here  Margaret  repeated  a  little  poem  of  George  Herbert's. 
She  had  found  his  poems  amongst  Mrs.  Eltons  books,  who, 
coming  upon  her  absorbed  in  it  one  day,  had  made  her  a  pres- 
ent of  the  volume.  Then,  indeed,  Margaret  had  found  a 
friend. 

The  poem  is  called  "  Dialogue  "  :  — 

"  Sweetest  Saviour,  if  luy  soul 
Were  but  worth  the  having — " 

"Oh,  what  a  comfort  you  are  to  me,  Margaret!  "  Lady 
Emily  said,  after  a  short  silence.  "  ^Yheredid  you  learn  such 
things?" 

"  From  my  father,  and  from  Jesus  Christ,  and  from  God 
himself,  showing  them  to  me  in  my  heart." 

"Ah!  that  is  why,  as  often  as  you  come  into  my  room, 
even  if  I  am  very  troubled,  I  feel  as  if  the  sun  shone,  and  the 
wind  blew,  and  the  birds  sang,  and  the  tree-tops  went  waving 
in  the  wind,  as  they  used  to  do  before  I  was  taken  ill, —  I  mean 
before  they  thought  I  must  go  abroad.  You  seem  to  make 
everything  clear,  and  right,  and  plain.  I  wish  I  were  you. 
Margaret." 

"  If  I  were  you,   my  lady,    I  would  rather  be  what  God 


DAVID    ELG[NBROD.  289 

chose  to  mal<e  me,  than  the  most  glorious  creature  that  1  could 
think  of.  For  to  have  heen  thought  about,  —  born  In  God's 
thoughts,  —  and  then  made  by  God,  is  the  dearest,  grandest, 
most  precious  thing  in  all  thinking.     Is  it  not,  my  lady?  " 

"It  is,"  said  Lady  Emily,  and  was  silent. 

The  shadows  of  evening  came  on.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark, 
Margaret  took  her  place  at  one  of  the  windows  hidden  from 
Lady  Emily  by  a  bed-curtain.  She  raised  the  blind,  and 
pulled  aside  one  curtain,  to  let  her  have  a  view  of  the  trees 
outside.  She  had  placed  the  one  candle  so  as  not  to  shine 
either  on  the  window  or  on  her  OAvn  eyes.  Lady  Emily  was 
asleep.  One  hour  and  another  passed,  and  still  she  sat  there 
—  motionless,  watching. 

Margaret  did  not  know  that  at  another  window  —  the  one, 
indeed,  next  to  her  own  —  stood  a  second  watcher.  It  was 
Hugh,  in  Harry's  room;  Harry  was  asleep  in  Hugh's.  He, 
had  no  light.  He  stood  with  his  face  close  against  the  win- 
dow-pane,  on  which  the  moon  shone  brightly.  All  below  him 
the  woods  were  half  dissolved  away  in  the  moonlight.  The 
Ghost's  Walk  lay  full  before  him,  like  a  tunnel  through-  the 
trees.  He  could  see  a  great  way  down,  by  the  light  that  fell 
into  it,  at  various  intervals,  from  between  the  boughs  over- 
head. He  stood  thus  for  a  lonji  time,  sazins;  somewhat  list- 
lessly.  Suddenly  he  became  all  eyes,  as  he  caught  the  Avhite 
glimmer  of  something  passing  up  the  avenue.  He  stole  out 
of  the  room,  down  to  the  library  by  the  back-stair,  and  so 
through  the  library  window  into  the  wood.  He  reached  the 
avenue  sideways,  at  some  distance  from  the  house,  and  peeped 
from  behind  a  tree,  up  and  down.  At  first  he  saw  nothing. 
But  a  moment  after,  while  he  was  looking  down  the  avenue, 
that  is,  away  from  the  house,  a  veiled  figure  in  white  passed 
him  noiselessly  from  the  other  direction.  From  the  way  in 
which  he  was  looking  at  the  moment,  it  had  passed  him  before 
he  saw  it.  It  made  no  sound.  Only  some  early-fiilling  leaves 
rustled  as  they  hurried  away  in  uncertain  eddies,  startled  by 
the  sweep  of  its  trailing  garments,  which  yet  were  held  up  by 
hands  hidden  within  them.  On  it  went.  Hugh's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  its  course.  He  could  not  move,  and  his  heart  labored 
so  frightfully  that  he  could  hardly  breathe.  The  figure  had 
not  advanced  fixr,  however,  before  he  heard  a  repressed  cry  of 


240  DAVID    ELGINBrvOD. 

agony,  and  it  sank  to  the  earth  and  vanished ;  while  from 
where  it  disappeared,  down  the  path,  came,  silently  too,  turn- 
ing neither  to  the  right  nor  tlie  left,  a  second  figure,  veiled  in 
black  from  head  to  foot. 

"It  is  the  nun  in  Lady  Euphrasia's  room,"  said  Hugh  to 
himself. 

This  passed  him  too,  and,  walking  slowly  towards,  the  house, 
disappeared  somewhere  near  the  end  of  the  avenue.  Turning 
once  more,  with  reviving  courage, —  for  his  blood  had  begun  to 
flow  more  equably,  —  Hugh  ventured  to  approach  the  spot 
where  the  white  figure  had  vanished.  He  found  nothing  there 
but  the  shadow  of  a  large  tree.  He  walked  through  the  ave- 
nue to  the  end,  and  then  back  to  the  house,  but  saw  nothing, 
though  he  often  started  at  fimcied  appearances.  Sorely  bewil- 
dered, he  returned  to  his  own  room.  After  speculating  till 
thought  was  weary,  he  lay  down  beside  Harry,  whom  he  was 
thankful  to  find  in  a  still  repose,  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

Margaret  lay  on  a  couch  in  Lady  Emily's  room,  and  slept 
likewise ;  but  she  started  wide  awake  at  every  moan  of  the  in- 
valid, who  often  moaned  in  her  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    BAD    MAN. 


She  kcnt  he  was  nae  gentle  knight, 

That  she  had  letten  in ; 
Por  neither  when  ho  gaod  nor  cam' 

Kissed  he  hor  check  or  chin. 

He  neither  kissed  her  when  he  cam', 

Nor  clappit  her  when  ho  gaed; 
And  in  and  out  at  her  bower  window 

The  moon  shono  like  the  gleed. 

Glenkindie.  —  Old  Scotch  Ballad. 


When  Euphra  recovered  from  the  swoon  into  which  she  had 
fallen,  — for  I  need  hardly  explain  to  my  readers,  that  it  was 
«he  who  walked  the  Ghost's  Walk  in  white,  —  on  seeing  Mar- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  241 

garet.  whom,  under  the  irresistible  influences  of  the  moonlight 
and  a  bad  conscience,  she  took  for  the  very  being  whom  Eu- 
phra  herself  was  personating,  —  when  she  recovered,  I  saj, 
she  found  herself  lying  in  the  wood,  with  Funkelstein,  whom 
slie  had  gone  to  meet,  standing  beside  her.  Her  first  worda 
were  of  anger,  as  she  tried  to  rise,  and  found  she  could  not. 

"How  long,  Count  Halkar,  am  I  to  be  jour  slave?  " 

"  Till  you  have  learned  to  submit." 

"  Have  I  not  done  all  I  can  ?  " 

_"  You  have  not  found  it.  You  are  free  from  the  moment 
you  place  that  ring,  belonging  to  me  in  right  of  my  family, 
into  my  hands." 

I  do  not  believe  the  man  really  was  Count  Halkar,  although 
he  had  evidently  persuaded  Euphra  that  such  was  his  name 
and  title.  I  think  it  much  more  probable  that,  in  the  course 
of  picking  up  a  mass  of  trifling  information  about  various 
families  of  distinction,  for  which  his  position  of  secretary  in 
several  of  their  houses  had  aiforded  him  special  facilities,  he 
had  learned  something  about  the  Halkar  family,  and  this  par- 
ticular ring,  of  which,  for  some  reason  or  other,  he  wanted  to 
possess  himself. 

"What  more  can  I  do?"  moaned  Euphra,  succeeding  at 
length  in  raising  herself  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  leaning  thus 
against  a  tree.  "I  shall  be  found  out  some  day.  I  have 
been  already  seen  wandering  through  the  house  at  midnight, 
with  the  heart  of  a  thief     I  hate  you.  Count  Halkar  !  " 

A  low  laugh  was  the  count's  only  reply.  ^ 

"  And  now  Lady  Euphrasia  herself  dogs  my  steps,  to  keep 
me  from  the  ring."  She  gave  a  low  cry  of  agony  at  the  re- 
membrance. 

'•  Miss  Cameron  —  Euphra  —  are  you  going  to  give  way  to 
such  folly?" 

' '  Eolly  !  Is  it  not  worse  folly  to  torture  a  poor  girl  as  you 
do  me,  —  all  for  a  worthless  ring  ?  What  can  you  want  with 
the  ring?     I  do  not  know  that  he  has  it  even." 

"  You  lie.  You  know  he  has.  You  need  not  think  to  take 
me  in." 

"  You  base  man  !  You  dare  not  give  the  lie  to  any  but  a 
woman." 

"Why?" 

16 


242  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

'•  Because  you  are  a  coward.  You  are  afraid  of  Lady  Eu- 
phrasia yourself.     See  there  !  " 

Von  Funkelstein  glanced  round  him  uneasily.  It  was  only 
the  moonlight  on  the  bark  of  a  silver  birch.  Conscious  of 
having  betrayed  weakness,  he  grew  spiteful. 

"  If  you  do  not  behave  to  me  better,  I  will  compel  you. 
Rise  up  !  " 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  she  rose. 

"  Put  your  arms  round  me." 

She  seemed  to  grow  to  the  earth,  and  to  drag  herself  from 
it  one  foot  after  another.  But  she  came  close  up  to  the 
Bohemian,  and  put  one  arm  half  round  him,  looking  to  the 
earth  all  the  time. 

"  Kiss  me." 

"  Count  Halkar  !  "  —  her  voice  sounded  hollow  and  harsh, 
as  if  from  a  dead  throat, —  "  I  Avill  do  what  you  please.  Only 
release  me." 

' '  Go  then ;  but  mind  you  resist  me  no  more.  I  do  not  care 
for  your  kisses.  You  were  ready  enough  once.  But  that  idiot 
of  a  tutor  has  taken  my  place,  I  see." 

' '  Would  to  God  I  had  never  seen  you  !  —  never  yielded  to 
your  influence  over  me  !  Swear  that. I  shall  be  free  if  I  find 
you  the  ring." 

' '  You  find  the  ring  first.  Why  should  I  swear  ?  I  can 
compel  you.  You  know  you  laid  yourself  out  to  entrap  me 
first  Avith  your  arts,  and  I  only  turned  upon  you  with  mine. 
And  you  are  in  my  power.  But  you  shall  be  free,  notwith- 
standing ;  and  I  will  torture  you  till  you  free  yourself  Find 
the  ring." 

"  Cruel  !  cruel !     You  are  doing  all  you  can  to  ruin  me." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  doing  all  I  can  to  save  myself  If 
you  had  loved  me  as  you  allowed  me  to  think  once,  I  should 
never  have  made  you  my  tool." 

"  You  would,  all  the  same." 

"  Take  care.     I  am  irritable  to-night." 

For  a  few  moments  Euphra  made  no  reply. 

"  To  what  will  you  drive  me?  "  she  said  at  last. 

"I  will  not  go  too  far.  I  should  lose  my  power  over  you 
if  I  did.     I  prefer  to  keep  it." 

"  Inexorable  man  !  " 


DAVID   ELaiNBROD.  24§ 

"Yes." 

Another  despairing  pause. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  But  keep  yourself  readj  to  carry  out  any  plan 
that  I  may  propose.  Something  will  turn  up,  now  that  I  have 
got  into  the  house  myself.  Leave  me  to  find  out  the  means. 
I  can  expect  no  invention  from  your  brains.  You  can  go 
home." 

Euphra  turned  without  another  word,  and  went ;  murmuring, 
as  if  in  excuse  to  herself:  — 

"It  is  for  my  freedom.     It  is  for  my  freedom." 

Of  course  this  account  must  have  come  originally  from 
Euphra  herself,  for  there  was  no  one  else  to  tell  it.  She,  at 
least,  believed  herself  compelled  to  do  what  the  man  pleased. 
Some  of  my  readers  will  put  her  down  as  insane.  She  may 
have  been ;  but,  for  my  part,  I  believe  there  is  such  a  power 
of  one  being  over  another,  though  perhaps  only  in  a  rare  con- 
tact of  psychologically  peculiar  natures.  I  have  testimony 
enough  for  that.  She  had  yielded  to  his  will  once.  Had  she 
not  done  so,  he  could  not  have  compelled  her;  but,  having  once 
yielded,  she  had  not  strength  suiEcient  to  free  herself  again. 
Whether  even  he  could  free  her,  further  than  by  merely 
abstaining  from  the  exercise  of  the  power  he  had  gained,  I 
doubt  much. 

It  is  evident  that  he  had  come  to  the  neighborhood  of  Arn- 
stead  for  the  sake  of  finding  her,  and  exercising  his  power  over 
her  for  his  own  ends ;  that  he  had  made  her  come  to  him  once, 
if  not  oftener,  before  he  met  Hugh,  and  by  means  of  his 
acquaintance  obtained  admission  into  Arnstead.  Once  admitted, 
he  had  easily  succeeded,  by  his  efibrts  to  please,  in  so  far  in- 
gratiating himself  with  Mr.  Arnold,  that  now  the  house-door 
stood  open  to  him,  and  he  had  even  his  recognized  seat  at  the 
dinner-table. 


244  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SPIRIT  VERSUS   MATERIALISM. 

Nest  this  marble-venomed  seat, 
Smeared  with  gums  of  glutinous  heat, 
I  touch  Vith  ciin.^to  palms  moist  and  cold  — 
Now  the  spell  hath  lost  his  hold. 

Milton.  —  Comts. 

Next  morning  Ladj  Etnilj  felt  better,  and  wanted  to  get 
up ;  but  her  eyes  were  still  too  bright,  and  her  hands  too  hot ; 
and  Margaret  would  not  hear  of  it. 

Fond  as  Lady  Emily  was  in  general  of  INIrs.  Elton's  society, 
she  did  not  care  to  have  her  with  her  now,  and  got  tired  of  her 
when  Margaret  was  absent. 

They  had  taken  care  not  to  allow  Miss  Cameron  to  enter  the 
room ;  but  to-day  there  was  not  much  likelihood  of  her  making 
the  attempt,  for  she  did  not  appear  at  breakfast,  sending  a 
message  to  her  uncle  that  she  had  a  bad  headache,  but  hoped 
to  take  her  place  at  the  dinner-table. 

During  the  day,  Lady  Emily  was  better,  but  restless  by  fits. 

"  Were  you  not  out  of  the  room  for  a  little  while  last  night, 
Margaret?  "  she  said,  rather  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  my  lady.     I  told  you  I  should  have  to  go,  perhaps." 

"  I  remember  I  thought  you  had  gone,  but  I  was  not  in  the 
least  afraid,  and  that  dreadful  man  never  came  near  me.  I 
do  not  know  when  you  returned.  Perhaps  I  had  fallen  asleep ; 
but  when  I  thought  about  you  next,  there  you  were  by  my 
bedside." 

"I  shall  not  have  to  leave  you  to-night,"  was  all  Margaret's 
answer. 

As  for  Hugh,  when  first  he  woke,  the  extraordinary 
experiences  of  the  previous  night  appeared  to  him  to  belong 
only  to  the  night,  and  to  have  no  real  relation  to  the  daylight 
v/orld.  But  a  little  reflection  soon  convinced  him  of  the 
contrary ;  and  then  he  went  through  the  duties  of  the  day  like 
one  who  had  nothing  to  do  with  them.  The  phantoms  he  had 
seen  even  occupied  some  of  the  thinking  space  formerly  appro- 
priated by  the  image  of  Euphra,  though  he  knew  to  his  concern 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  245 

that  she  was  ill,  and  confined  to  her  room.  '  He  had  heard  the 
message  sent  to  Mr.  Arnold,  however,  and  so  kept  hoping  for 
the  dinner-hour. 

With  it  came  Euphra,  very  pale.  Her  eyes  had  an  unsettled 
look,  and  there  were  dark  hollows  under  them.  She  would, 
start  and  look  sideways  without  any  visible  cause ;  and  was 
thus  very  different  from  her  usual  self, —  ordinarily  remark- 
able for  self-possession,  almost  to  coolness,  of  manner  and 
speech.  Hugh  saw  it,  and  became  both  distressed  and 
speculative  in  consequence.  It  did  not  diminish  his  discomfort 
that,  about  the  middle  of  dinner,  Funkelstein  was  announced. 
Was  it,  then,  that  Euphra  had  been  tremulously  expectant  of 
him  ? 

"  This  is  an  unforeseen  pleasure,  Herr  Von  Funkelstein," 
said  Mr.  Arnold. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  call  it  a  pleasure,  Mr.  Arnold," 
said  he.  ' '  Miss  Cameron  —  but,  good  heavens  !  how  ill  you 
look  !  " 

"  Don't  be  alarmed.     I  have  only  caught  the  plague." 

^'■Onlif?''^  was  all  Funkelstein  said  in  reply;  yet  Hugh 
thought  he  had  no  right  to  be  so  solicitous  about  Euphra'j^ 
health. 

As  the  gentlemen  sat  at  their  wine,  Mr.  Arnold  said  :  — 
■"I  am  anxious  to  have  one  more  trial  of  those  strange  things 
you  have  brought  to  our  knowledge.     I  have  been  thinking 
about  them  ever  since." 

"Of  course  I  am  at  your  service,  Mr.  Arnold;  but  don't 
you  think,  for  the  ladies'  sakes,  we  have  had  enough  of  it?  " 

"  You  are  very  considerate,  Herr  Von  Funkelstein;  but 
they  need  not  be  present  if  they  do  not  like  it." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Arnold." 

They  adjourned  once  more  to  the  library  instead  of  the 
drawing-room.  Hugh  went  and  told  Euphra,  who  was  alone 
in  the  drawing-room,  what  they  were  about.  She  declined 
going,  but  insisted  on  his  leaving  her,  and  joining  the  other 
gentlemen. 

Hugh  left  her  with  much  reluctance. 

"  Margaret,"  said  Lady  Emily,  "  I  am  certain  that  man  ia 
in  the  house." 

"  He  is,  my  lady,"  answered  Margaret. 


246  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

"  They  are  about  some  more  of  those  horrid  experiments,  aa 
they  call  them." 

"  I  do  not  know." 

i\Irs.  Elton  entering  the  room  at  that  moment,  Margaret 
Baid :  — 

'•  Do  you  know,  ma'am,  whether  the  gentlemen  are  —  in  the 
library  again?  " 

"I  don't  know,  Margaret.  I  hope  not.  We  have  had 
enough  of  that.     I  will  go  and  find  out,  though." 

' '  Will  you  take  my  place  for  a  few  minutes  first,  please, 
ma'am?  " 

Margaret  had  felt  a  growing  oppression  for  some  time.  She 
had  scarcely  left  the  sick-room  that  day. 

"Don't  leave  me,  dear  Margaret,"  said  Lady  Emily, 
imploringly. 

"  Only  for  a  little  while,  my  lady.  I  shall  be  back  in  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  Very  well.  Margaret,"  she  answered,  dolefully. 

Margaret  went  out  into  the  moonlight,  and  walked  for  ten 
minutes.  She  sought  the  more  open  parts,  where,  the  winds 
were.  She  then  returned  to  the  sick-chamber,  refreshed  and 
strong, 

"Now  I  will  go  and  see  what  the  gentlemen  are  about," 
said  Mrs.  Elton. 

The  good  lady  did  not  like  these  proceedings,  but  she  was 
irresistibly  attracted  by  them  notwithstanding.  Having  gone 
to  see  for  Lady  Emily,  she  remained  to  see  for  herself. 

After  she  had  left.  Lady  Emily  grew  more  uneasy.  Not 
even  Margaret's  presence  could  make  her  comfortable.  Mrs. 
Elton  did  not  return.  Many  minutes  elapsed.  Lady  Emily 
said  at  last :  — 

"  Margaret,  I  am  terrified  at  the  idea  of  being  left  alone,  I 
confess  ;  but  not  so  terrified  as  at  the  idea  of  what  is  going  on 
in  that  library.  Mrs.  Elton  will  not  come  back.  Would  you 
mind  just  running  down  to  ask  her  to  come  to  me  ?  " 

"I  Avould  go  with  pleasure,"  said  Margaret;  "but  I  don't 
want  to  be  seen." 

Margaret  did  not  want  to  be  seen  by  Hugh.  Lady  Emily, 
with  her  dislike  to  Funkelstein,  thought  Margaret  did  not 
want  to  be  seen  by  him. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  247 

"  fou  will  find  a  black  veil  of  mine,"  she  said,  "  in  that 
wardrobe ;  just  throw  it  over  your  head,  and  hold  a  hand- 
kerchief to  your.  face.  They  will  be  so  busy  that  they  will 
never  see  you." 

Margaret  yielded  to  the  request  of  Lady  Emily,  who  herself 
arranged  her  head-dress  for  her. 

Now  I  must  go  back  a  little.  When  Mrs.  Elton  reached 
the  room,  she  found  it  darkened,  and  the  gentlemen  seated  at 
the  table.      A.  running  fire  of  knocks  was  going  on  all  around. 

She  sat  down  in  a  corner.  In  a  minute  or  two,  she  fancied 
she  saw  strange  figures  moving  about,  generally  near  the  floor, 
and  very  imperfectly  developed.  Sometimes  only  a  hand, 
sometimes  only  a'foot,  shadowed  itself  out  of  the  dim  obscurity. 
She  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  it  was  all  done,  somehow  or 
other,  by  Funkelstein,  yet  she  could  not  help  watching  with  a 
curious  dread.  She  was  not  a  very  excitable  woman,  and  her 
nerves  were  safe  enough. 

In  a  minute  or  two  more,  the  table  at  which  they  were 
seated  began  to  move  up  and  down  with  a  kind  of  vertical 
oscillation,  and  several  things  in  the  room  began  to  slide  about, 
by  short,  apparently  purposeless  jerks.  Everything  threatened 
to  assume  motion,  and  turn  the  library  into  a  domestic  chaos. 
Mrs.  Elton  declared  afterwards  that  several  books  were  thrown 
about  the  room.  But  suddenly  everything  was  as  still  as  the 
moonlight.  Every  chair  and  table  was  at  rest,  looking  per- 
fectly incapable  of  motion.  Mrs.  Elton  felt  that  she  dai-ed  not 
say  they  had  moved  at  all,  so  utterly  ordinary  was  their 
appearance.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  from  corner  or  ceil- 
ing. After  a  moment's  silence,  ]Mrs.  Elton  was  quite  restored 
to  her  sound  mind,  as  she  said,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Some  adverse  influence  is  at  work,"  said  Funkelstein,  with 
some  vexation.      "  What  is  in  that  closet  ?  " 

So  saying,  he  approached  the  door  of  the  private  staircase, 
and  opened  it.  They  saw  him  start  aside,  and  a  veiled,  dark 
figure  pass  him,  cross  the  library,  and  go  out  by  another  door. 

"I  have  my  suspicions,"  said  Funkelstein,  with  a  rathei: 
tremulous  voice. 

"  And  your  fears  too,  I  think.  Grant  it  now,"  said  Mr, 
Arnold. 

"  Granted,  Mr.  Arnold.     Let  us  go  to  the  drawing-room." 


248  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Just  as  Margaret  had  reached  the  librarj-door  at  the  bottom 
of  the  private  stair,  either  a  pufF  of  wind  from  an  open  loop- 
hole window,  or  some  other  cause,  destroyed  the  arrangement 
of  the  veil,  and  made  it  fall  quite  over  her  face.  She  stopped 
for  a  moment  to  readjust  it.  She  had  not  quite  succeeded, 
when  Funkelstein  opened  the  door.  Without  an  instant's 
hesitation',  she  let  the  veil  fall,  and  walked  forward. 

Mrs.  Elton  had  gone  to  her  own  room,  on  her  way  to  Lady 
Emily's.  When  she  reached  the  latter,  she  found  Margaret 
seated  as  she  had  left  her,  by  the  bedside.     Lady  Emily  said  :  — 

"  I  did  not  miss  you,  Margaret,  half  so  much  as  I  expected. 
But  indeed  you  were  not  many  moments  gone.  I  do  not  care 
for  that  man  now.     He  can't  hurt  me,  can  he?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  I  hope  he  will  give  you  no  more  trouble 
either,  dear  Lady  Emily.  But  if  I  might  presume  to  advise 
you,  I  would  say,  Get  well  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  leave 
this  place." 

"Why  should  I?  You  frighten  me.  Mr.  Arnold  is  very 
kind  to  me." 

"  The  place  quite  suits  Lady  Emily,  I  am  sure,  Margaret." 

"  But  Lady  Emily  is  not  so  well  as  when  she  came." 

"No;  but  that  is  not  the  ftxult  of  the  place,"  said  Lady 
Emily.      "  I  am  sure  it  is  all  that  horrid  man's  doing." 

"How  else  will  you  get  rid  of  him,  then?  What  if  he 
wants  to  get  rid  of  you  ?  " 

"  What  harm  can  I  be  doing  him, —  a  poor  girl  like  me  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  fear  there  is  something  not  right 
going  on." 

"We  will  tell  Mr.  Arnold  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Elton. 

"But  what  could  you  tell  him,  ma'am?  Mr.  Arnold  is 
hardly  one  to  listen  to  your  maid's  suspicions.  Dear  Lady 
Emily,  you  must  get  Avell  and  go." 

"I  will  try,"  said  Lady  Emily,  submissive  as  a  child. 

"  I  think  you  will  be  able  to  get  up  for  a  little  while  to- 
morrow." 

A  tap  came  to  the  door.  It  was  Euphrasia,  inquiring  aftei 
Lady  Emily. 

"Ask  Miss  Cameron  to  come  in,"  said  the  invalid. 

She  entered.  Her  manner  was  much  changed  —  was  sub- 
dued and  suffering. 


DAVID    ELGINBKOD.  249 

"  Dear  Miss  Cameron,  you  and  I  ought  to  change  places. 
I  am  sorry  to  see  you  looking  so  ill,"  said  Lady  Emily. 

"  I  have  had  a  headache  all  day.  I  shall  be  quite  well  to- 
morrow, thank  you." 

"  I  intend  to  be  so  too,"  said  Lady  Emily,  cheerfully. 

After  some  little  talk,  Euphraw^ent,  holding  her  hand  to  her 
forehead.  Margaret  did  not  look  up,  all  the  time  she  was  in 
the  room,  but  went  on  busily  with  her  needle. 

That  night  was  a  peaceful  one. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 


THE    RING. 


.     .     shining  crystal,  whicli     .     . 

Out  of  her  womb  a  thousand  rayons  threw. 

Bellay.  —  Translated  by  Spenser. 

The  next  day.  Lady  Emily  was  very  nearly  as  well  as  she 
had  proposed  being.  She  did  not,  however,  make  her  appear- 
ance below.  Mr.  Arnold,  hearing  at  luncheon  that  she  was 
out  of  bed,  immediately  sent  up  his  compliments,  with  the  re- 
quest that  he  might  be  permitted  to  see  her  on  his  return  from 
the  neighboring  village,  where  he  had  some  business.  To  this 
L^dy  Emily  gladly  consented. 

He  sat  Avith  her  a  long  time,  talking  about  various  things  ; 
for  the  presence  of  the  girl,  reminding  him  of  his  young  wife, 
brought  out  the  best  of  the  man,  lying  yet  alive  under  the  in- 
crustation of  self-importance,  and  its  inevitable  stupidity.  At 
length,  subject  of  further  conversation  failing, 

"  I  wonder  what  we  can  do  to  amuse  you.  Lady  Emily," 
said  he. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Arnold  ;  I  am  not  at  all  dull.  With  my 
kind  friend,  Mrs.  Elton,  and  — " 

She  would  have  said  Margaret,  but  became  instinctively 
aware  that  the  mention  of  her  would  make  Mr.  Arnold  open 
his  eyes,  for  he  did  not  even  know  her  name ;  and  that  he 


250  DAVID   ELGINBROD 

would  stare  yet  wider  when  he  learned  that  the  valued  com- 
panion referred  to  was  Mrs.  Elton's  maid. 

Mr.  Arnold  left  tlie  room,  and  presently  returned  with  hia 
arms  filled  with  all  the  drawing-room  books  he  could  find,  Avith 
grand  bindings  outside,  and  equally  grand  plates  inside.  These 
he  heaped  on  the  table  beside  Lady  Emily,  who  tried  to  look 
interested,  but  scarcely  succeeded  to  Mr.  Arnold's  satisfaction, 
for  he  presently  said  :  — 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  much  about  these,  dear  Lady 
Emily.  I  dare  say  you  have  looked  at  them  already,  in  this 
dull  house  of  ours." 

This  was  a  wonderful  admission  from  Mr.  Arnold.  He  pon- 
dered, then  exclaimed,  as  if  he  had  just  made  a  grand  dis- 
covery :  — 

"  I  have  it !     I  know  something  that  will  interest  you." 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself,  pray,  Mr.  Arnold,"  said  Lady 
Emily.      But  he  was  already  half-way  to  the  door. 

He  went  to  his  own  room,  and  his  own  strong  closet  therein. 

Returning  toward  the  inv^alids  quarters  with  an  ebony  box 
of  considerable  size,  he  found  it  rather  heavy,  and,  meeting 
Euphra  by  the  way,  requested  her  to  take  one  of  the  silver 
handles,  and  help  him  to  carry  it  to  Lady  Emily's  room. 
She  started  when  she  saw  it,  but  merely  said  :  — 

"  With  pleasure,  uncle." 

"  Now,  Lady  Emily,"  said  he,  as,  setting  down  the  box,  he 
took  out  a  curious  antique,  enamelled  key,  "  we  shall  be  able 
to  amuse  you  for  a  little  while." 

He  opened  the  box,  and  displayed  such  a  glitter  and  show  aa 
would  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  any  lady.  All  kinds  of 
strange  ornaments  :  ancient  watches,  —  one  of  them  a  death's 
head  in  gold  ;  cameo  necklaces ;  pearls  abundant ;  diamonds, 
rubies,  and  all  the  colors  of  precious  stones,  —  every  one  of 
them  having 'some  history,  whether  known  to  the  owner  or  not; 
gems  that  had  flashed  on  many  a  fair  finger  and  many  a  shin- 
ing neck,  lay  before  Lady  Emily's  delighted  eyes.  But 
Euphrasia's  eyes  shone,  as  she  gazed  on  them,  with  a  very 
dijGferent  expression  from  that  which  sparkled  in  Lady  Emily's. 
They  seemed  to  search  them  with  fingers  of  lightning. 
Mr.  Arnold  chose  two  or  three,  and  gave  Lady  Emily  her 
choice  of  them. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  251 

*'  I  could  not  think  of  depriving  you." 

"  Thej  are  of  no  use  to  uie,"'  said  Mr.  Arnold,  making 
light  of  the  handsome  offer. 

"  You  are  too  kind.     I  should  like  this  ring." 

"  Take  it  then,  dear  Lady  Emilj." 

Euphrasia's  eyes  were  not  on  the  speaker's,  nor  was  any  envy 
to  be  seen  in  her  face.  She  still  gazed  at  the  jewels  in  the 
box. 

The  chosen  gem  was  put  aside  ;  and  then,  one  after  another, 
the  various  articles  were  taken  out  and  examined.  At  length, 
a  large  gold  chain,  set  with  emeralds,  was  lifted  from  where  it 
lay  coiled  up  in  a  corner.  A  low  cry,  like  a  muffled  moan,  es- 
caped from  Euphrasia's  lips,  and  she  turned  her  head  away 
from  the  box. 

".What  is  the  matter,  Euphra?  "  said  Mr.  Arnold. 

"A  sudden  shoot  of  pain, — I  beg  your  pardon,  dear  uncle. 
I  fear  I  am  not  quite  so  well  yet  as  I  thought  I  was.  Ho\^ 
stupid  of  me  !  " 

"  Do  sit  down.  I  fear  the  weight  of  the  box  was  too  much 
for  you." 

"  Not  in  the  least.     I  want  to  see  the  pretty  things." 

"But  you  have  seen  them  before." 

"  No,  uncle.  You  promised  to  show  them  to  me,  but  you 
never  did." 

"  You  see  what  I  get  by  being  ill,"  said  Lady  Emily. 

The  chain  was  examined,  admired,  and  laid  aside. 

Where  it  had  lain,  they  now  observed,  in  the  corner,  a  huge 
stcme  like  a  diamond. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  said  Lady  Emily,  taking  it  up.  "  Oh  ! 
I  see.  It  is  a  ring.  But  such  a  ring  for  size  I  never  saw. 
Do  look.  Miss  Cameron." 

For  Miss  Cameron  was  not  looking.  She  was  leaning  her 
head  on  her  hand,  and  her  face  was  ashy  pale.  Lady  Emily 
tried  the  ring  on.  Any  two  of  her  fingers  would  go  into  the 
broad  gold  circlet,  beyond  which  the  stone  projected  far  in 
every  direction.  Indeed,  the  ring  was  attached  to  the  stone, 
rather  than  the  stone  set  in  the  ring. 

"That  is  a  curious  thing,  is  it  not?"  said  Mr.  Arnold. 
'•*  It  is  of  no  value  in  itself,  I  believe  ;  it  is  nothing  but  a 
crystal.     But  it  seems  to  have  been  always  thought  something 


252  DAVID   EL-GINBROD. 

of  in  the  family,  — I  presume  from  its  being  evidently  the 
very  ring  painted  by  Sir  Peter  Lely  in  that  portrait  of  Lady 
Euphrasia  which  I  showed  you  the  other  day.  It  is  a  clumsy 
affair,  —  is  it  not  ? ' ' 

It  might  have  occurred  to  Mr.  Arnold,  that  such  a  thing 
must  have  been  thought  something  of.  before  its  owner  would 
have  chosen  to  wear  it  when  sitting  for  her  portrait. 

Lady  Emily  was  just  going  to  lay  it  down,  when  she  spied 
something  that  made  her  look  at  it  more  closely. 

"What  curious  engraving  is  this  upon  the  gold?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  do  not  know,  indeed,"  answered  Mr.  Arnold.  "I  have 
never  observed  it." 

' '  Look  at  it,  then  —  all  over  the  gold.  What  at  first  looks- 
only  like  chasing  is,  I  do  believe,  words.  The  character 
looks  to  me  like  German.  I  wish  I  could  read  it.  I  am  but 
a  poor  German  scholar.  Do  look  at  it,  please,  dear  Miss 
Cameron." 

Euphra  glanced  slightly  at  it  without  touching  it,  and 
said :  — 

"  I  am  sure  I  could  make  nothing  of  it.  But,"  she  added, 
as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  "  as  Lady  Emily  seems  in- 
terested in  it,  suppose  we  send  for  Mr.  Sutherland.  I  have 
no  doubt  he  will  be  able  to  decipher  it." 

She  rose  as  if  she  would  go  for  him  herself;  but,  apparently 
on  second  thoughts,  went  to  the  bell  and  rang  it. 

"  Oh  !  do  not  trouble  yourself,"  interposed  Lady  Emily,  in  a 
tone  that  showed  she  would  like  it  notwithstanding. 

"No  trouble  at  all,"  answered  Euphra  and  her  uncle  in  a 
breath. 

"Jacob,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  "take  my  compliments  to  Mr. 
Suthei'land,  and  ask  him  to  step  this  way." 

The  man  went,  and  Hugh  came. 

"There's  a  puzzle  for  you,  Mr.  Sutherland,"  said  Mr.  Ar- 
nold, as  he  entered.  "  Decipher  that  inscription,  and  gain  the 
favor  of  Lady  Emily  forever." 

As  he  spoke  he  put  the  ring  in  Hugh's  hand.  Hugh  recog- 
nized it  at  once. 

"  Ah  !  this  is  Lady  Euphrasia's  wonderful  ring,"  said  he. 

Euphra  cast  on  him  one  of  her  sudden  glances. 


DAVID    ELGIXBROD.  253 

"  What  do  jou  know  about  it?  "  said  Mr.  Arnold,  hastily. 

Euphra  flashed  at  him  once  more,  covertly. 

"I  only  know  that  this  is  the  ring  in  her  portrait.  Any 
one  may  see  that  it  is  a  very  wonderful  ring  indeed,  by  only 
looking  at  it,"  answered  Hugh,  smiling. 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  too  wonderful  for  you  to  get  at  the  mys- 
tery of  it  though,  Mr.  Sutherland?  "  said  Lady  Emily. 

"Lady  Emily  is  dying  to  understand  the  inscription,"  said 
Euphrasia. 

By  this  time  Hugh  was  turning  it  round  and  round,  trying 
to  get  a  beginning  to  the  legend.  But  in  this  he  met  with  a 
difficulty.  The  fact  was,  that  the  initial  letter  of  the  inscrip- 
tion could  only  be  found  by  looking  into  the  crystal,  held 
close  to  the  eye.  The  words  seemed  not  altogether  unknown 
to  him,  though  the  characters  were  a  little  strange,  and  the 
words  themselves  were  undivided.     The  dinner-bell  rans. 

"Dear  me!  how  the  time  goes  in  your  room,-  Lady 
Emily !  "  said  Mr.  Arnold,  who  was  never  known  to  keep  din- 
ner waiting  a  moment.  "Will  you  venture  to  go  down  with 
us  to-day  ? ' ' 

"I  fear  I  must  not  to-day.  To-morrow,  I  hope.  But  do 
put  up  these  beauties  before  you  go.  I  dare  not  touch  them 
■without  you,  and  it  is  so  much  more  pleasure  seeing  them, 
when  I  have  you  to  tell  me  about  them." 

"  Well,  throw  them  in,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  pretending  an  in- 
diiFerence  he  did  not  feel.  "  The  reality  of  dinner  must  not 
be  postponed  to  the  fancy  of  jewels." 

All  this  time  Hugh  had  stood  poring  over  the  ring  at  the 
window,  whither  he  had  taken  it  for  better  light,  as  the  shad- 
ows were  falling.  Euphra  busied  herself  replacing  everything 
in  the  box.     When  all  were  in,  she  hastily  shut  the  lid. 

"  W^ell,  Mr.  Sutherland?  "  said  Mr.  Arnold. 

' '  I  seem  on  the  point  of  making  it  out,  Mr.  Arnold,  but  I 
certainly  have  not  succeeded  yet." 

"  Confess  yourself  vanquished,  then,  and  come  to  dinner." 

"  lam  very  unwilling  to  give  in,  for  I  feel  convinced  that  if 
I  had  leisure  to  copy  the  inscription  as  far  as  I  can  read  it,  I 
should,  with  the  help  of  my  dictionary,  soon  supply  the  rest. 
I  am  very  unwilling,  as  well,  to  lose  a  chance  of  the  favor  of 
Lady  Emily." 


254  DAVID   ELaiNBROD. 

"  Yes,  do  read  it,  if  you  can.  I,  too,  am  dying  to  hear  it," 
said  Euplira. 

"  Will  you  trust  me  with  it,  Mr.  Arnold  ?  I  will  take  the 
greatest  care  of  it." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  "  replied  Mr.  Arnold,  with  a  little  hesi- 
tation in  his  tone,  however,  of  which  Hugh  was  too  eager  to 
take  any  notice. 

He  carried  it  to  his  room  immediately,  and  laid  it  beside  his 
manuscript  verses,  in  the  hiding-place  of  the  old  escritoire. 
He  was  in  the  drawing-room  a  moment  after. 

There  he  found  Euphra  and  the  Bohemian  alone.  —  Von 
Funkelstein  had,  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  estab- 
lished himself  as  Haiisfreiind.  and  came  and  went  as  he 
pleased.  —  They  looked  as  if  they  had  been  interrupted  in  a 
hurried  and  earnest  conversation  —  their  faces  were  so  impas- 
sive. Yet  Euphra' s  wore  a  considerably  heightened  color,  — 
a  more  articulate  indication.  She  could  school  her  features, 
but  not  her  complexion. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE    WAGER. 

He  .  .  .  stakes  this  ring: 
*  And  would  so,  had  it  been  a  carbuncle 

Of  Phoebus'  wheel;  and  might  so  safely,  had  it 
Been  all  the  worth  of  his  car. 

Cymbeline, 

Hugh,  of  course,  had  an  immediate  attack  of  jealousy. 
Wishing  to  show  it  in  one  quarter,  and  hide  it  in  every  other, 
he  carefully  abstained  from  looking  once  in  the  direction  of 
Euphra ;  while,  throughout  the  dinner,  he  spoke  to  every  one 
else  as  often  as  there  was  the  smallest  pretext  for  doing  so. 
To  enable  himself  to  keep  this  up,  he  drank  wine  freely.  As 
he  was  in  general  very  moderate,  by  the  time  the  ladies  rose 
it  had  begun  to  affect  his  brain.  It  was  not  half  so  potent, 
however,  in  its  influences,  as  the  parting  glance  which   Eu- 


PAVID    ELGINBROD.  255 

phra  succeeded  at  last,  as  she  left  the  room,  in  sending  through 
his  eyes  to  his  heart. 

Hugh  sat  down  to  the  table  again,  with  a  quieter  tongue, 
but  a  busier  brain.  He  drank  still,  without  thinking  of  the 
ooMsequences.  A  strong  will  kept  him  from  showing  any 
signs  of  intoxication  ;  but  he  was  certainly  nearer  to  that  state 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life  before. 

The  Bohemian  started  the  new  subject  which  generally  fol- 
loAved  the  ladies'  departure. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  Arnstead  was  first  said  to  be  haunted,. 
Mr.  Arnold?" 

' '  Haunted  !  Ilerr  von  Funkelstein  ?  I  am  at  a  loss  to  un- 
derstand you,"  replied  Mr.  Arnold,  who  resented  any  such  al- 
lusion, being  subversive  of  the  honor  of  his  house,  almost  as 
much  as  if  it  had  been  depreciative  of  his  own. 

' '  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Arnold.  I  thought  it  was  an 
open   subject  of  remark." 

"So  it  is,"  said  Hugh ;  "  every  one  knows  that." 

Mr.  Arnold  was  struck  dumb  with  indignation.  Before  he 
had  recovered  himself  sufiiciently  to  know  what  to  say,  the 
conversation  between  the  other  two  had  assumed  a  form  to 
which  his  late  experiences  inclined  him  to  listen  with  some  de- 
gree of  interest.  But,  his  pride  sternly  forbidding  him  to  join 
in  it,  he  sat  sipping  his  wine  in  careless  sublimity. 

"  You  have  seen  it  yourself,  then?  "  said  the  Bohemian. 

"  I  did  not  say  that,"  answered  Hugh.  "  But  I  heard  one 
of  the  maids  say  once  —  when  — " 

He  paused. 

This  hesitation  of  his  witnessed  against  him  afterwards,  in 
Mr.  Arnold's  judgment.  But  he  took  no  notice  now.  Hugh 
ended  tamely  enough  :  — 

"  Why,  it  is  commonly  reported  amongst  the  servants." 

"  With  a  blue  light?  —  such  as  we  saw  that  night  from  the 
library  window.  I  suppose." 

'■  I  did  not.  say  that,"  answered  Hugh.  "Besides,  it  was 
nothing  of  the  sort  you  saw  from  the  library.  It  was  only  the 
moon.     But  —  " 

He  paused  again.  Von  Funkelstein  saw  the  condition  he 
was  in,  and  pressed  him. 

"  You  know  something  more,  Mr.  Sutherland." 


256  DAVID    ELQINBROD. 

Hugh  hesitated  again,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  "I  have  seen  the  spectre  myself, 
walking  in  her  white  grave-clothes,  in  the  Ghost's  Avenue  — 
ha!  ha!" 

Funkelstein  looked  anxious. 

"  Wei'e  you  not  frightened?  "  said  he. 

"Frightened!"  repeated  Hugh,  in  a  tone  of  the  greatest 
contempt.  "  I  am  of  Don  Juan's  opinion  with  regard  to  such 
gentry. ' ' 

"What  is  that?" 


"  '  That  soul  and  body,  on  the  whole, 
Are  odds  against  a  disembodied  soul.' " 


"  Bravo  I  "  cried  the  count.  "  You  despise  all  these  tales 
about  Lady  Euphrasia,  wandering  about  the  house  with  a 
death-candle  in  her  hand,  looking  everywhere  about  a»  it'  she 
had  lost  something,  and  couldn't  find  it?  " 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  I  wish  I  could  meet  her  !  " 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  a  word  of  it?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that.  There  would  be  less  of  courage  than 
boasting  in  talking  so,  if  I  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  Then  you  do  believe  it?  " 

But  Hugh  was  too  much  of  a  Scotchman  to  give  a  hasty 
opinion,  or  rather  a  direct  answer,  —  even  when  half  tipsy ; 
especially  when  such  was  evidently  desired.  He  only  shook 
and  nodded  his  head  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  you  would  meet  her  if  you  could?  " 

"I  do." 

"Then,  if  all  tales  are  true,  you  may,  without  much  diffi- 
culty. For  the  coachman  told  me  only  to-day,  that  you  may 
see  her  light  in  the  window  of  that  room  almost  any  i^ight, 
towards  midnight.  He  told  me,  too  (for  I  made  quite  a  fiiend 
of  him  to-day,  on  purpose  to  hear  his  tales),  that  one  o^'  the 
maids,  who  left  the  other  day,  told  the  groom  —  and  hfc  told 
the  coachman  —  that  she  had  once  heard  talking  ;  and,  pe^^ping 
through  the  keyhole  ()f  a  door  that  led  into  that  part  of  the 
old  house,  saw  a  figure,  dressed  exactly  like  the  picture  of 
Lady  Euhprasia,  wandering  up  and  down,  wringing  her  hands 
and  beating  her  breast,  as  if  she  were  in  terrible  trouble.     She 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  257 

had  a  light  in  her  hand  which  burned  awfully  blue,  and  her 
face  was  the  face  of  a  corpse,  with  pajie-green  spots." 

"You  think  to  frighten  me,  Funkelstein,  and  make  me 
tremble  at  what  I  said  a  minute  ago.  Instead  of  repeating 
that,  I  say  now,  I  will  sleep  in  Lady  Euphrasia's  room  this 
night,  if  you  like." 

"  I  lay  you  a  hundred  guineas  you  won't !  "  cried  the  Bohe- 
mian. 

"  Done  !"  said  Hu2;h,  offerino-  him  his  hand.  Funkelstein 
took  it ;  and  so  the  bet  was  committed  to  the  decision  of  courage. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  interposed  Mr.  Arnold,  at  last,  "you 
might  have  left  a  corner  for  me  somewhere.  Without  my 
permission  you  will  hardly  settle  your  wager." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Arnold,"  said  Funkelstein.  "  We 
got  rather  excited  over  it,  and  forgot  our  manners.  But  I  am 
quite  willing  to  give  it  up',  if  Mr.  Sutherland  will." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Hugh,  —  "  that  is,  of  course,  if  Mr.  Arnold* 
has  no  objection." 

"  Of  course  not.  My  house,  ghost  and  all,  is  at  your  ser- 
vice, gentlemen,"  responded  Mr.  Arnold,  rising. 

They  went  to  the  drawing-room.  Mr.  Arnold,  strange  to 
say,  was  in  a  good  humor.  He  walked  up  to  Mrs.  Elton,  and 
said  :  — 

"  These  wicked  men  have  been  betting,  Mrs.  Elton." 

"  I  am  surprised  they  should  be  so  silly,"  said  she,  with  a 
smile,  taking  it  as  a  joke. 

"What  have  they  been  betting  about?"  said  Euphra, 
coming  up  to  her  uncle. 

' '  Herr  Von  Funkelstein  has  laid  a  hundred  guineas  that  Mr. 
Sutherland  will  not  sleep  in  Lady  Euphrasia's  room  to-night." 

Euphra  turned  pale. 

"  By  sZee^9,  I  suppose  you  mean  spend  the  night?''''  said 
Hugh  to  Funkelstein.  "  I  cannot  be  certain  of  sleeping,  you 
know." 

"  Of  course,  I  mean  that,"  answered  the  other;  and,  turning 
to  Euphrasia,  continued  :  — 

'  •  I  must  say  I  consider  it  rather  courageous  of  him  to  dare 
the  spectre  as  he  does,  for  he  cannot  say  he  disbelieves  in  her. 
But  come  and  sing  me  one  of  the  old  songs,"  he  added,  in  an 
uuder-tone. 

17 


258  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Euphra  allowed  him  to  lead  her  to  the  piano ;  but,  instead 
of  singing  a  song  to  him, 'she  played  some  noisy  music,  through 
which  he  and  she  contrived  to  talk  for  some  time,  Avithout  beinji 
overheard ;  after  which  he  left  the  room.  Euphra  then  looked 
round  to  Hugh,  and  begged  him  with  her  eyes  to  come  to  her. 
He  could  not  resist,  burning  with  jealousy  as  he  was. 

"Are  you  sure  you  have  nerve  enough  for  this,  Hugh?" 
she  said,  still  playing. 

"I  have  had  nerve  enough  to  sit  .still  and  look  at  you  for 
the  last  half  hour,"  answered  Hugh,  rudely. 

She  turned  pale,  and  glanced  up  at  him  with  a  troubled 
look.     The'n,  without  responding  to  his  answer,  said :  — 

"  I  dare  say  the  count  is  not  over-anxious  to  hold  you  to 
your  bet." 

"  Pray  intercede  for  me  with  the  county  madam,"  answered 
Hugh,  sarcastically.  "  He  would  not  wish  the  young  fool  to 
be  frightened,  I  dare  say.  But  perhaps  he  wishes  to  have  an 
interview  with  the  ghost  himself,  and  grudges  me  the  privi- 
lege." 

She  turned  deadly  pale  this  time,  and  gave  him  one  terrified 
glance,  but  made  no  other  reply  to  his  words.  Still  she  played 
on. 

"  You  will  arm  yourself?  " 

"  Against  a  ghost?     Yes,  with  a  stout  heart." 

"  But  clonH  forget  the  secret  door  through  ivhich  we  came 
that  night,  Hugh.     I  distrust  the  count.'" 

The  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  whisper,  emphasized  into 
almost  a  hiss. 

"  Tell  him  J  shall  be  armed.  I  tell  you  I  shall  meet  him 
bare-handed.     Betray  me  if  you  like." 

Hugh  had  taken  his  revenge,  and  now  came  the  reaction. 
He  gazed  at  Euphra ;  but  instead  of  the  injured  look,  which 
was  the  best  he  could  hope  to  see,  an  expression  of  "  pity  and 
ruth  "  grew  slowly  in  her  face,  making  it  more  lovely  than  ever 
in  his  eyes.  At  last  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  bursting  into 
tears  ;  and,  suddenly  changing  the  music,  she  began  playing  a 
dead-march.  She  kept  her  eyes  on  the  keys.  Once  more, 
onlj'-,  she  glanced  round,  to  see  whether  Hugh  was  still  by  her  side : 
and  he  saw  that  her  face  was  pale  as  death,  and  wet  with  silent 
tears.     He  had  never  seen  her  weep  before.     He  would  have 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  259 

fallen  at  her  feet,  had  he  been  alone  with  her.  To  hide  his 
feelings,  he  left  the  room,  and  then  the  house. 

He  Avandered  into  the  Ghost's  Walk ;  and,  fiading  himself 
there,  walked  up  and  down  in  it.  This  was  certainly  throwing 
the  ladj  a  bold  challenge,  seeing  he  was  going  to  spend  the 
night  in  her  room. 

The  excitement  into  which  jealousy  had  thrown  him  had 
been  suddenly  checked  by  the  sight  of  Euphra's  tears.  The 
reaction,  too,  after  his  partial  intoxication,  had  already  began 
to  set  in  :  to  be  accounted  for  partly  by  the  fact  that  its  source 
had  been  chiefly  champagne,  and  partly  by  the  other  fact,  that 
he  had  bound  himself  in  honor  to  dare  a  spectre  in  her  own 
favorite  haunt. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  sight  of  Euphra's  emotion  had  given 
him  a  far  better  courage  than  jealousy  or  wine  could  afford. 
Yet,  after  ten  minutes  passed  in  the  shadows  of  the  Ghost's 
Walk,  he  would  not  have  taken  the  bet  at  ten  times  its  amount. 

But  to  lose  it  now  would  have  been  a  serious  affair  for  him. 
the  disgrace  of  failure  unconsidered.  If  he  could  have  lost  a 
hundred  guineas,  it  would  have  been  comparatively  a  slight 
matter ;  but  to  lose  a  bet,  and  be  utterly  unable  to  pay  it, 
would  be  disgraceful, —  no  better  than  positive  cheating.  He 
had  not  thought  of  this  at  the  time.  Nor  even  now  was  it 
more  than  a  passing  thought;  for  he  had  not  the  smallest 
desire  to  recede.  The  ambition  of  proving  his  courage  to 
Euphra,  and,  far  more,  the  strength  just  afforded  him  by  the 
sight  of  her  tears,  were  quite  sufficient  to  carry  him  on  to  the 
ordeal.  Whether  they  would  carry  him  through  it  with  dignity 
he  did  not  ask  himself. 

And,  after  all,  would  the  ghost  appear  ?  At  the  best,  she 
might  not  come ;  at  the  very  worst,  she  would  be  but  a  ghost  ] 
and  he  could  say  with  Hamlet :  — 

"  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that, 
Being  a  thing  immortal  as  itself?  " 

But  then,  his  jealousy  having  for  the  moment  intermitted, 
Hugh  was  not  able  to  say  with  Hamlet :  — 

"  I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee  ;  " 


260  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

and  that  had  much  to  do  with  Hamlet's  courage  in  the  affair 
of  the  ghost. 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  avenue,  till,  beginning  to  feel 
the  night  chilly,  he  began  to  feel  the  avenue  eerie ;  for  cold  is 
very  antagonistic  to  physical  courage.  But  what  refuge  Avould 
he  find  in  the  ghost's  room  ? 

He  returned  to  the  drawing-room.  Von  Funkelstein  and 
Euphra  were  there  alone,  but  in  no  proximity.  Mr.  Arnold 
soon  entered. 

"  Shall  I  have  the  bed  prepared  for  you,  Mr.  Sutherland?" 
said  Euphra. 

"  Which  of  your  maids  will  you  persuade  to  that  oflBce?  " 
said  Mr.  Arnold,  with  a  facetious  expression. 

"  I  must  do  it  myself,"  answered  Euphra,  "  if  Mr.  Suther- 
land persists." 

Hugh  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  the  Bohemian  dart  an  angry 
glance  at  Euphra,  who  shrank  under  it.  But  before  he  could 
speak,  Mr.  Arnold  rejoined :  — 

"You  can  make  a  bed,  then?  That  is  the  housemaid's 
phrase, —  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  anything  another  can,  uncle." 

"  Bravo  !      Can  you  see  the  ghost  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  low  liiigering  on  the  sibilant; 
looking  round,  at  the  same  time,  with  an  expression  that  im- 
plied a  hope  that  Hugh  had  heard  it ;  as  indeed  he  did. 

"  What !  Euphra  too  ?  "  said  Mr.  Arnold,  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
contempt. 

"  Do  not  disturb  the  ghost's  bed  for  me,"  said  Hugh.  "  It 
would  be  a  pity  to  disarrange  it,  after  it  has  lain  so  for  an  age. 
Besides,  I  need  not  rouse  the  wrath  of  the  poor  spectre  more 
than  can't  be  helped.  If  I  must  sleep  in  her  room,  I  need  not 
sleep  in  her  bed.  I  will  lie  on  the  old  couch.  Herr  Von 
Funkelstein,  what  proof  shall  I  give  you  ?  " 

' '  Your  word,  Mr.  Sutherland, ' '  replied  Funkelstein,  with  a 
bow. 

"  Thank  you.     At  what  hour  must  I  be  there  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know.  By  eleven  I  should  think.  Oh  !  any 
time  before  midnight.  That's  the  ghost's  own,  is  it  not  ?  It 
is  now  —  let  me  see  —  almost  ten." 

"  Then  I  will  go  at  once,"  said  Hugh,  thinking  it  better  to 


DAVID    ELGIXBROD.  261 

meet  the  ^'radual  approach  of  the  phantom-hour  in  the  room 
itself,  than  to  walk  there  through  the  desolate  house,  and  enter 
the  room  just  as  thfe  fear  would  be  gathering  thickest  within  it. 
Besides,  he  was  afraid  that  his  courage  might  have  broken 
down  a  little  by  that  time,  and  that  he  would  not  be  able  to 
conceal  entirely  ,the  anticipative  dread,  whose  inroad  he  had 
reason  to  apprehend. 

'•  I  have  one  good  cup  of  tea  yet,  Mr.  Sutherland,''  said 
Euphra.  "  Will  you  not  strengthen  your  nerves  with  that, 
before  we  lead  you  to  the  tomb  ?  ' ' 

"Then  she  will  go  with  me,"  thought  Hugh.  "I  will, 
thank  you.  Miss  Cameron." 

He  approached  the  table  at  which  she  stood  pouring  out  the 
cup  of  tea.  She  said,  low  and  hurriedly,  without  raising  her 
head  :  — 

"  Don't  go,  dear  Hugh.  You  don't  know  what  may  hap- 
pen." 

"I  will  go,  Euphra.     Not  even  you  shall  prevent  me." 

'''  I  will  pay  the  wager  for  you,  —  lend  you  the  money." 

"  Euphra!  "  — The  tone  implied  many  things. 

Mr.  Arnold  approached.  Other  conversation  followed. 
As  half-past  ten  chimed  from  the  clock  on  the  chimney-piece, 
Hugh  rose  to  go. 

"  I  will  just  get  a  book  from  my  room."  he  said;  "and 
then  perhaps  Herr  von  Funkelstein  will  be  kind  enough  to  see 
me  make  a  bejiinning  at  least." 

"  Certainly  I  will.  I  advise  you  te  let  the  book  be  Edgar 
Poe"s  Tales." 

' '  No.  I  shall  need  all  the  courage  I  have,  I  assure  you. 
I  shall  find  you  here  ?  ' ' 

"Yes." 

Hugh  went  to  his  room,  and  washed  his  face  and  hands. 
Before  doing  so,  he  pulled  oflF  his  finger  a  ring  of  considerable 
value,  which  had  belonged  to  his  fither.  As  he  was  leaving 
the  room  to  return  to  the  company,  he  remembered  that  he 
had  left  the  ring  on  the  wash-hand-stand.  He  generally  left 
it  there  at  night ;  but  now  he  bethought  himself  that,  as  he 
was  not  going  to  sleep  in  the  room,  it  might  be  as  well  to 
place  it  in  the  escritoire.  He  opened  the  secret  place,  and 
laid  the  diamond  beside  his  poems  and  the  crystal  ring  belong- 


262  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

ing  to  Mr.  Arnold.  This  done,  he  took  up  his  boolc  again, 
and,  returning  to  the  drawing-room,  found  the  "whole  partj? 
prepared  to  accompany  him.  Mr.  Arnold  had  the  keys. 
Von  Funkelstein  and  he  went  first,  and  Hugh  followed  with 
Euphra. 

"  We  will  not  contribute  to  your  discomfiture  by  locking 
the  doors  on  the  way,  Mr.  Sutherland,"  said  Mr.  Arnold. 

"  That  is,  you  will  not  compel  me  to  win  the  wager  in  spite 
of  my  fears,"  said  Hugh. 

"  But  you  will  let  the  ghost  loose  on  the  household/'  said 
the  Bohemian,  lauo-hino;. 

"  I  Avill  be  responsible  for  tliat,"  replied  Mr.  Arnold. 

Euphra  drooped  a  little  behind  with  Hugh. 

"Remember  the  secret  passage,"  said  she.  "  You  can  get 
out  when  you  will,  whether  they  lock  the  door  or  not.  Don't 
carry  it  too  far,  Hugh." 

"  The  ghost  you  mean,  Euphra.  — I  don't  think  I  shall," 
said  Hugh,  laughing.  But  as  he  laughed,  an  involuntary 
shudder  passed  through  him. 

"  Have  I  stepped  over  my  own  grave  ?  "  thought  he. 

They  reached  the  room,  and  entered.  Hugh  would  have 
begged  them  to  lock  him  in,  had  he  not  felt  that  his  knowledge 
of  the  secret  door  Avould,  although  he  intended  no  use  of  it, 
render  such  a  proposal  dishonorable.  They  gave  him  the  key 
of  the  door,  to  lock  it  on  the  inside,  and  bade  him  good-night. 
They  Avere  just  leaving  him,  when  Hugh,  on  whom  a  new  light 
had  broken  at  last,  in  the  gradual  restoration  of  his  faculties, 
said  to  the  Bohemian  :  — 

"  One  word  with  you,  Herr  von  Funkelstein,  if  you 
please." 

Funkelstein  followed  him  into  the  room ;  when  Hugh,  half- 
closing  the  door,  said  :  — 

"I  trust  to  your  sympathy,  as  a  gentleman,  not  to  misun- 
derstand me.  I  wagered  a  hundred  guineas  with  you  in  the 
heat  of  after-dinner  talk.  I  am  not  at  present  worth  a  hun- 
dred shillings." 

"  Oh  !  "  began  Funkelstein,  Avith  a  sneer,  "  if  you  wish  to 
get  off  on  that  ground  —  ' ' 

"Herr  von  Funkelstein,"  mterrupted  Hugh,  in  a  very  de- 
cided tone,  "  I  pointed  to  your  sympathy  as  a  gentleman,  as 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  263 

the  ground  on  -which  I  had  hoped  to  meet  you  now.  If  jou 
have  difficulty  in  finding  that  ground,  another  may  be  found 
to-morrow  without  much  seeking." 

Hugh  paused  for  a  moment  after  making  this  grand  speech  ; 
but  Funkelstein  did  not  seem  to  understand  him  ;  he  stood  in 
a  waitino;  attitude.     Huo-h  therefore  went  on  :  — 

"  Meantime,  what  I  wanted  to  say  is  this  :  I  have  just  left 
a  ring  in  my  room,  which,  though  in  value  considerably  below 
the  sum  mentioned  between  us,  may  yet  be  a  pledge  of  my 
good  faith,  in  as  far  as  it  is  of  infinitely  more  value  to  me 
than  can  be  reckoned  in  money.  It  was  the  property  of  one 
who  by  birth,  and  perhaps  by  social  position  as  well,  was  Herr 
von  Funkelstein's  equal.  The  ring  is  a  diamond,  and  belonged 
to  my  fiither." 

Von  Funkelstein  merely  replied  :  — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Sutherland,  for  misunderstanding 
you.  The  ring  is  quite  an  equivalent."  And,  making  him  a 
respectful  bow,  he  turned  and  left  him. 


CHxiPTER  XXXIX. 


THE    LADY    EUPHRASIA. 


The  black  jades  of  swart  night  trot  foggy  rings 
'Bout  heaven's  brow.     'Tis  now  stark  dead  night. 

John  JIarstox.  —  Second  Part  of  Antonio  and  Mellida. 

As  soon  as  Hugh  was  alone,  his  first  action  was  to  lock  the 
door  by  which  he  had  entered ;  his  next  was  to  take  the  key 
from  the  lock,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  He  then  looked  if 
there  were  any  other  fastenings,  and  finding  an  old  tarnished 
brass  bolt  as  well,  succeeded  in  making  it  do  its  duty  for  the 
first  time  that  century,  which  required  some  persuasion,  as  may 
be  supposed.  He  then  turned  towards  the  otlier  door.  As  he 
cros::.ed  the  room,  he  found  four  candles,  a  decanter  of  port, 
and  some  biscuits,  on  a  table,  —  placed  there,  no  doubt,  by  the 
kind  hand  of  Euphra.     He  vowed  to  himself  that  he  would  not 


264  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

touch  the  wine.  "  I  have  had  enough  of  that  for  one  nit^ht," 
said  he.  But  he  lighted  the  candles ;  and  then  saw  that  the 
couch  was  provided  with  plenty  of  wraps  for  the  night.  One 
of  them  —  he  recognized,  to  his  delight  —  was  a  Cameron 
tartan,  often  worn  by  Euphra.  He  buried  his  face  in  it  for  a 
moment,  and  drew  from  it  fresh  courage.  He  then  went  into 
the  furthest  recess,  lifted  the  tapestry,  and  proceeded  to  fasten 
the  concealed  door.  But,  to  his  discomfiture,  he  could  find  no 
fastening  upon  it.  "No  doubt,"  thought  he,  "it  does  fasten, 
in  some  secret  way  or  other."  But  he  could  discover  none. 
There  was  no  mark  of  bolt  or  socket  to  show  whence  one  had 
been  removed,  nor  sign  of  friction  to  indicate  that  the  door  had 
ever  been  made  secure  in  such  fashion.    It  closed  with  a  spring. 

"Then,"  said  Hugh,  apostrophizing  the  door,  "I  must 
watch  you." 

As,  however,  it  was  not  yet  near  the  time  when  ghosts  are 
to  be  expected,  and  as  he  felt  very  tired,  he  drank  one  glass 
of  the  wine,  and,  throwing  himself  on  the  couch,  drew  Eu- 
phra's  shawl  over  him,  opened  his  book,  and  began  to  read. 
But  the  words  soon  vanished  in  a  bewildering  dance,  and  he 
slept. 

He  started  awake  in  that  agony  of  fear  in  which  I  suppose 
most  people  have  awaked  in  the  night,  once  or  twice  in  their 
lives.  He  felt  that  he  was  not  alone.  But  the  feeling  seemed, 
when  he  recalled  it,  to  have  been  altogether  different  from  that 
with  which  we  recognize  the  presence  of  the  most  unwelcome 
bodily  visitor.  The  Avhole  of  his  nervous  skeleton  seemed  to 
shudder  and  contract.  Every  sense  was  intensified  to  the  acme 
of  its  acuteness ;  while  the  powers  of  volition  were  inoperative. 
He  could  not  move  a  finger. 

The  moment  in  which  he  first  saw  the  object  I  am  about  to 
describe,  he  could  not  recall.  The  impression  made  seemed  to 
have  been  too  strong  for  the  object  receiving  it,  destroying 
thus  its  own  traces,  as  an  overheated  brand-iron  would  in  dry 
timber.  Or  it  may  be  that,  after  such  a  presensation,  the 
cause  of  it  could  not  surprise  him. 

He  saw,  a  few  paces  off,  bending  as  if  looking  down  upon 
him,  a  face  which,  if  described  as  he  described  it,  would  be 
pronounced  as  far  past  the  most  liberal  boundary-line  of  art, 
as  itself  had  passed  beyond  that  degree  of  change  at  which  a 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  265 

human  countenance  is  fit  for  the  upper  world  no  longer,  and 
must  be  hidden  away  out  of  sight.  The  lips  ivere  dark,  and 
drawn  back  from  the  closed  teeth,  which  were  Avhite  as  those 
of  a  skull.  There  were  spots,  —  in  fact,  the  fxce  corresponded 
exactly  to  the  description  given  by  Funkelstein  of  the  reported 
ghost  of  Lady  Euphrasia.  The  dress  was  point  for  point  cor- 
respondent to  that  in  the  picture.  Had  the  portrait  of  Lady 
Euphrasia  been  hanging  on  the  wall  above,  instead  of  the  por- 
trait of  the  unknown  nun.  Hu^j-h  would  have  thou'Z'ht,  as  flir  as 
dress  was  concerned,  that  it  had  come  alive,  and  stepped  from 
its  frame,  —  except  for  one  thing  :  there  was  no  ring  on  the 
thumb. 

It  was  wonderful  to  himself  afterwards  that  he  should  have 
observed  all  these  particulars ;  but  the  fact  was,  that  they 
rather  burnt  themselves  in  upon  his  brain,  than  were  taken 
notice  of  by  him.  They  returned  upon  him  afterwards  by  de->- 
grees,  as  one  becomes  sensible  of  the  pain  of  a  wound. 

But  there  was  one  sign  of  life.  Though  the  eyes  were 
closed,  tears  flowed  from  them,  and  seemed  to  have  worn 
channels  for  their  constant  flow  down  this  face  of  death,  which 
ought  to  have  been  lying  still  in  the  grave,  returning  to  its 
dust,  and  was  weeping  above  ground  instead.  The  figure 
stood  for  a  moment  as  one  who  would  gaze,  could  she  but  open  her 
heavy,  death-rusted  eyelids.  Then,  as  if  in  hopeless  defeat, 
she  turned  away.  And  then,  to  crown  the  horror  literally  as 
well  as  figuratively,  Hugh  saw  t^at  her  hair  sparkled  and 
gleamed  goldenly,  as  the  hair  of  a  saint  might,  if  the  aureole 
were  combed  down  into  it.  She  moved  towards  the  door  with 
a  fettered  pace,  such  as  one  might  attribute  to  the  dead  if 
they  walked.  To  the  dead  body  I  say,  not  to  the  living  ghost; 
to  that  which  has  lain  in  the  prison-hold  till  the  joints  are  de- 
cayed with  the  grave-damps,  and  the  muscles  are  stifi'with 
moi'e  than  deathly  cold.  She  dragged  one  limb  after  the  other 
slowly  and,  to  appearance,  painfully,  as  she  moved  towards  the 
door  Avhich  Hugh  had  locked. 

When  she  had  gone  half-way  to  the  door,  Hugh,  lying  as  he 
was  on  a  couch,  could  see  her  feet,  for  her  dress  did  not  reach 
the  ground.  They  were  bare,  as  the  feet  of  the  dead  ought 
to  be,  which  are  about  to  tread  softly  in  the  realm  of  Hades. 
But  how  stained  and  mouldy  and  iron-spotted,  as  if  the  rain 


266  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

had  been  soaking  through  the  spongy  coffin,  did  the  dress  sho-\v 
beside  the  pure  Avhiteness  of  those  exquisite  feet !  Not  a  sign 
of  the  tomb  was  upon  them.  Small,  living,  delicately  formed, 
Hugh,  could  he  have  forgotten  the  face  they  bore  above,  might 
have  envied  the  floor  which  in  their  nakedness  they  seemed  to 
-.I'ess,  so  lingeringly  did  they  move  from  it  in  their  noiseless 
^  egress. 

■She  reached  the  door,  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  it. 
jtiugh  saw  it  open  outwards  and  let  her  through.  Nor  did  this 
strike  him  as  in  the  smallest  degree  marvellous.  It  closed 
again  behind  her  noiseless  as  her  footfalls. 

The  moment  she  vanished  the  power  of  motion  returned 
to  him,  and  Hugh  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  leaped  to  the  door. 
With  trembling  hand  he  inserted  the  key,  and  the  lock  creaked 
as  he  turned  it. 

In  proof  of  his  being  in  tolerable  possession  of  his  faculties 
at  the  moment,  and  that  what  he  was  relating  to  me  actually 
vrccurred,  he  told  me  that  he  remembered  at  once  that  he  had 
heard  that  peculiar  creak  a  few  moments  before  Euphra  and 
he  discovered  that  they  were  left  alone  in  this  very  chamber. 
He  had  never  thought  of  it  before. 

Still  the  door  would  not  open ;  it  was  bolted  as  well,  and 
the  bolt  was  very  stiff  to  withdraw.  But  at  length  he  suc- 
ceeded. 

When  he  reached  the  passage  outside,  he  thought  he  saw 
the  glimmer  of  a  light,  perhaps  in  the  picture-gallery  beyond. 
Towards  this  he  groped  his  way.  He  could  never  account  for  the 
fact  that  he  left  the  candles  burning  in  the  room  behind  him  and 
went  forward  into  the  darkness,  except  by  supposing  that  his 
wits  had  gone  astray  in  consequence  of  the  shock  the  appari- 
tion had  occasioned  them.  —  When  he  reached  the  gallery 
there  was  no  light  thero ;  but  somewhere  in  the  distance  he 
saw,  or  fancied,  a  faint  shimmer. 

The  impulse  to  go  towards  it  was  too  strong  to  be  disputed 
with.  He  advanced  with  outstretched  arms  groping.  After 
a  few  steps  he  had  lost  all  idea  of  Avhere  he  was,  or  how  he 
ought  to  proceed  in  order  to  reach  any  known  quarter.  The 
light  had  vanished.  He  stood.  —  Was  that  a  stealthy  step 
be  heard  beside  him  in  the  dark  ?  He  had  no  time  to  specu- 
late, for  the  next  moment  he  fell  senseless. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  267 


CHAPTER  XL. 

NEXT   MORNING. 

Darkness  is  fled:  look,  infant  morn  hath  drawn 
Bright  silver  curtains  'bout  the  couch  of  night; 
And  now  Aurora's  horse  trots  azure  rings, 
Breathing  fair  light  about  the  firmament. 
Stand;  what's  that? 

John  Marstox.  —  Secnnd  Part  of  Antonio  and  Mellida. 

When  he  came  to  himself  it  waa  with  a  slow  flowing  of  the 
tide  of  consciousness.  His  head  ached.  Had  he  fallen  down- 
stairs?—  or  had  he  struck  his  head  against  some  projection 
and  so  stunned  himself?  The  last  he  remembered  was  — 
standing  quite  still  in  the  dark,  and  hearing  something.  Had 
he  been  knocked  down  ?  He  could  not  tell.  Where  was , 
he  ?  Could  the  gliost  have  been  all  a  dream,  and  this  head- 
ache be  nature's  revenge  upon  last  night's  wine  ?  For  he 
laj  on  the  couch  in  the  haunted  chamber,  and  on  his  bosom 
lay  the  book  over  which  he  had  dropped  asleep. 

Mingled  with  all  this  doubt  there  was  another.  For  he  re- 
membered that,  when  consciousness  first  returned,  he  felt  as  if 
he  had  seen  Euphra's  face  bending  down  close  over  his.  — 
Could  it  be  possible  ?  Had  Euphra  herself  come  to  see  how 
he  had  fared  ?  The  room  laj  in  the  gray  light  of  the  dawn, 
but  Euphra  was  nowhere  visible.  Could  she  have  vanished, 
ashamed,  through  the  secret  door  ?  Or  had  she  been  only  a 
fantasy,  a  projection  outwards  of  the  form  that  dwelt  in  his 
brain?  —  a  phenomenon  often  occurring  when  the  last  of  sleeping 
and  the  first  of  waking  are  indistinguishably  blended  in  a  vague 
consciousness. 

But  if  it  was  so,  then  the  ghost  ?  —  What  of  it?  Had  not 
his  brain,  by  the  events  of  the  preceding  evening,  been 
similarly  prepared  with  regard  to  ic?  Was  it  not  more  likely, 
after  all,  that  she,  too,  was  the  offspring  of  his  own  imagination., 
—  the  power  that  makes  images,  —  especially  Avhen  considered, 
that  she  exactly  corresponded  to  the  description  given  by  the 
Bohemian  ?  But  had  he  not  observed  many  points  at  which 
the  count  had  not  even  hinted?  Still,  it  was  as  natural  to 
expect  that  an  excited  imagination  should  supply  the  details 


268  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

of  a  wholly  imaginary  spectacle  as  that,  given  the  idea  of 
Euphra's  presence,  it  should  present  the  detail  of  her  counte- 
nance ;  for  the  creation  of  that  which  is  not  belongs  as  much 
to  the  realm  of  the  imagination  as  the  reproduction  of  that 
which  is. 

It  seemed  very  strange  to  Hugh  himself,  that  he  should  be 
able  thus  to  theorize,  before  even  he  had  raised  himself  from 
the  couch  on  which  perhaps,  after  all,  he  had  lain  without 
moving  throughout  that  terrible  night,  swarming  Avith  the 
hori'ors  of  the  dead  that  would  not  sleep.  But  the  long  un- 
consciousness in  which  he  had  himself  visited  tlie  regions  of 
death  seemed  to  have  restored  him,  in  spite  of  his  acliing  head, 
to  perfect  mental  equilibrium.  Or  at  least  his  brain  Avas  quiet 
enough  to  let  his  mind  Avork.  Still,  he  felt  very  ghastly 
within.  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  looked  into  the 
room.  Everything  Avas  the  same  as  it  had  been  the  night  be- 
fore, only  with  an  altered  aspect  in  the  daAvn-light.  The 
dawn  has  a  peculiar  terror  of  its  own,  sometimes  perhaps  even 
more  real  in  character,  but  very  different  from  the  terrors  of 
the  night  and  of  candle-light.  The  room  looked  as  if  no  ghost 
could  have  passed  through  its  still  old  musty  atmosphere,  so 
perfectly  reposeful  did  it  appear ;  and  yet  it  seemed  as  if  some 
umbra,  some  temporary  and  noAV  cast-off  body  of  the  ghost, 
must  be  lying  or  lingering  somewhere  about  it.  He  rose 
and  peeped  into  the  recess  where  the  cabinet  stood.  Nothing 
was  there  but  the  well-remembered  carving  and  blackness. 
Having  once  yielded  to  the  impulse,  he  could  not  keep  from 
peering  every  moment,  noAV  into  one,  and  noAV  into  another, 
of  the  many  hidden  corners.  The  next  suggesting  itself  for 
examination  was  always  one  he  could  not  see  from  where  he 
stood ;  after  all,  even  in  the  daylight,  there  might  be  some 
dead  thing  there,  —  who  could  tell  ?  But  he  remained  man- 
fully at  his  post  till  the  sun  rose ;  till  bell  after  bell  rang 
from  the  turret;  till,  in  short,  Funkelstein  came  to  fetch 
him. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Sutherland/'"  said  he.  "  Hoav  have 
you  slept?  " 

"Like  a  —  somnambulist,"  answered  Hugh,  choosing  the 
word  for  its  intensity.  "I  slept  so  .sound  that  I  woke  quite 
early." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  269 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  But  it  is  nearly  time  for  breakfast, 
for  which  ceremony  I  am  myself  hardly  in  trim  yet." 

So  saying,  Funkelstein  turned,  and  walked  aAvay  Avith  some 
precipitation.  What  occasioned  Hugh  a  little  surprise  was, 
that  he  did  not  ask  him  one  question  more  as  to  how  he  had 
passed  the  night.  He  had,  of  course,  slept  in  the  house, 
seeing  he  presented  himself  in  dishabille. 

Hugh  hastened  to  his  own  room,  where,  under  the  anti- 
ghostial  influences  of  the  bath,  he  made  up  his  mind  not  to  say 
a  Avord  about  the  apparition  to  any  one. 

"Well,  Mr.  Sutherland,  how  have  you  spent  the  night?" 
said  Mr.  Arnold,  greeting  him. 

"  I  slept  with  profound  stupidity,"  answered  Hugh,  —  "a 
stupidity,  in  fact,  quite  worthy  of  the  folly  of  the  preceding 
wager." 

This  was  true,  as  relating  to  the  time  during  which  he  had^ 
slept,  but  was  of  course  false  in  the  impression  it  gave. 

"Bravo!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Arnold,  with  an  unwonted  im- 
pulsiveness. "  The  best  mood,  I  consider,  in  which  to  meet 
such  creations  of  other  people's  brains  !  And  you  positively 
passed  a  pleasant  night  in  the  awful  chamber  ?  That  is  some- 
thing to  tell  Euphra.  But  she  is  not  down  yet.  You  have 
restored  the  chai-acter  of  my  house,  Mr.  Sutherland  ;  and,  next 
to  his  own  character,  a  man  ought  to  care  for  that  of  his 
house.     I  am  greatly  in  your  debt,  sir." 

At  this  moment  Euphra's  maid  brought  the  message  that 
her  mistress  was  sorry  she  was  unable  to  appear  at  break- 
fast. 

Mrs.  Elton  took  her  place. 

"  The  day  is  so  warm  and  still,  Mr.  Arnold,  that  I  think 
Lady  Emily  might  have  a  drive  to-day.  Perhaps  Miss  Came- 
ron may  be  able  to  join  us  by  that  time." 

"  I  cannot  think  what  is  the  matter  with  Euphra,"  said  Mr. 
Arnold.      "  She  never  used  to  be  affected  in  this  way." 

"  Should  you  not  seek  some  medical  opinion?"  said  Mrs. 
Elton.  "  These  constant  headaches  must  indicate  something 
wrong." 

The  constant  headache  had  occurred  just  once  before  since 
Mrs.  Elton  had  formed  one  of  the  family.  After  a  pause  Mr. 
Arnold  reverted  to  the  former  subject. 


270  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

*'  You  are  most  welcome  to  the  carriage,  Mrs.  Elton.  I  am 
sorry  I  cannot  accompany  you  myself;  but  I  must  go  to  town 
to-day.  You  can  take  Mr.  Sutherland  with  you,  if  you  like. 
He  will  take  care  of  you." 

"  I  shall  be  most  iiappy,"  said  Hugh. 

"  So  shall  we  all,''  responded  Mrs.  Elton,  kindly.  "  Tbank 
you,  Mr.  Arnold;  though  I  am  sorry  you  can't  go  with  us." 

"  What  hour  shall  I  order  the  carriage  ?  " 

"About  one,  I  think.  Will  Herr  von  Funkelstein  favor 
us  with  his  company  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  replied  Funkelstein ;  "  but  I,  too,  must  leave 
for  London  to-day.  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  accompany- 
ing you,  Mr.  Arnold  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  if  you  can  leave  so  early.  I  must  go 
at  once  to  catch  the  express  train." 

"  I  shall  be  ready  in  ten  minutes." 

"Very  well." 

"  Pray,  Mrs.  Elton,  make  my  adieus  to  Miss  Cameron.  I 
am  concerned  to  hear  of  her  indisposition." 

"  With  pleasure.     I  am  going  to  her  now.     Good-by." 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Elton  left  the  breakfast-room,  Mr.  Arnold 
rose,  saying  :  — 

"  I  will  walk  round  to  the  stable  and  order  the  carriage 
myself.  I  shall  then  be  able,  through  your  means,  Mr. 
Sutherland,  to  put  a  stop  to  these  absurd  rumors  in  person. 
Not  that  I  mean  to  say  anything  direct,  as  if  I  had  placed  any 
importance  upon  it ;  but,  the  coachman  being  an  old  servant,  I 
shall  be  able  through  him  to  send  the  report  of  your  courage, 
and  its  result,  all  over  the  house." 

This  was  a  very  gracious  explanation  of  his  measures.     As 
he  concluded  it,  he  left  the  room,  Avithout  allowing  time  for, 
a  reply. 

Hugh  had  not  expected  such  an  immediate  consequence  of  his 
policy,  and  felt  rather  uncomfortable ;  but  he  soon  consoled 
himself  by  thinking,  "  At  least  it  will  do  no  harm." 

While  Mr.  Arnold  was  speaking,  Funkelstein  had  been 
writing  at  a  side  table.  He  now  handed  Hugh  a  cheque  on 
a  London  banking-house  for  a  hundred  guineas.  Hugh,  in 
his  innocence,  could  not  help  feeling  ashamed  of  gaining  such 
a  sum  by  such  means;  for  betting,  like  tobacco-smoking,  needs 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  271 

a  special  training  before  it  can  be  carried  out  quite  comfortably, 
especially  by  the  winner,  if  he  be  at  all  of  a  generous  nature. 
But  he  felt  that  to  show  the  least  reluctance  would  place  him 
at  groat  disadvantage  with  a  man  of  the  world  like  the  count. 
He  therefore  thanked  him  slightly,  and  thrust  the  cheque  into 
his  trowsers-pocket,  as  if  a  greater  sum  of  money  than  he  had 
ever  handled  before  were  nothing  more  for  him  to  win  than 
the  count  would  choose  it  to  be  considered  for  him  to  lose.  He 
thought  with  himself:  "  Ah  !  Avell,  I  need  not  make  use  of  it ;  " 
and  repaired  to  the  school-room. 

Here  he  found  Harry  waiting  for  him,  looking  tolerably 
well,  and  tolerably  happy.  This  was  a  great  relief  to  Hugh, 
for  he  had  not  seen  him  at  the  breakfast-table,  Harry  having 
risen  early  and  breakfasted  before ;  and  he  had  felt  very  uneasy 
lest  the  boy  should  have  missed  him  in  the  night  (for  they 
were  still  bedfellows),  and  should  in  consequence  have  had 
one  of  his  dreadful  attacks  of  fear.  It  was  evident  that  this 
bud  not  taken  place. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

AN    ACCIDENT. 

There's  a  special  providence  in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow. 

Hamlet. 

When  Mrs.  Elton  left  the  breakfast-table,  she  went  straight 
to  Miss  Cameron's  room  to  inquire  after  her,  expecting  to  find 
her  maid  with  her.  But  when  she  knocked  at  the  door  there 
was  no  reply. 

She  went  therefore  to  her  own  room,  and  sent  her  maid  to 
find  Euphra's  maid. 

She  came. 

"Is  your  mistr.ess  going  to  get  up  to-day,  Jane?"  asked 
Mrs.  Elton. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am.      She  has  not  rung  yet." 

"  Have  you  not  been  to  see  how  she  is  ?  " 


272  DAVID   ELQINBROD. 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  How  was  it  you  brouglit  that  message  at  breakfast, 
then?" 

Jane  looked  confused,  and  did  not  reply. 

"Jane  !  "  said  Mrs.  Elton,  in  a  tone  of  objurgation. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  she  told  me  to  say  so,"  answered  Jane. 

"  How  did  she  tell  you  ?  " 

Jane  paused  again. 

"Through  the  door,  ma'am,"  she  answered  at  length ;  and 
then  muttered,  that  they  would  make  her  tell  lies  by  asking 
her  questions  she  couldn't  answer;  and  she  wished  she  was 
out  of  the  house,  that  she  did. 

Mrs.  Elton  heard  this,  and,  of  course,  felt  considerably 
puzzled. 

"  Will  you  go  now,  please,  and  inquire  after  your  mistress, 
with  my  compliments  ?  ' ' 

"  I  daren't,  ma'am." 

"  Daren't !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Well,  ma'am,  there  is  something  about  my  mistress  —  " 
Here  she  stopped  abruptly ;  but  as  Mrs.  Elton  stood  expect- 
ant, she  tried  to  go  on.  All  she  could  add,  however,  was, 
"  No,  ma'am  ;  I  daren't." 

"  But  there  is  no  harm  in  going  to  her  room." 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am.  I  go  to  her  room,  summer  and  winter, 
at  seven  o'clock  every  morning,"  answered  Jane,  apparently 
glad  to  be  able  to  say  something. 

"  Why  won't  you  go  now,  then  ?  " 

"Why — why — because  she  told  me  —  "  Here  the  girl 
stammered  and  turned  pale.  At  length  she  forced  out  the 
words,  "  She  wonH  let  me  tell  you  why,"  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Won't  let  you  tell  me  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Elton,  beginning 
to  think  the  girl  must  be  out  of  her  mind.  Jane  looked 
hurriedly  over  her  shoulder,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  her  mis- 
tress standing  behind  her,  and  then  said,  almost  defiantly  :  — 

"  No,  she  won't;   and  I  can't." 

With  these  words,  she  hurried  out  of  the  room,  while  Mrs. 
Elton  turned  with  baffled  bewilderment  to  seek  counsel  from 
the  face  of  Margaret.  As  to  what  all  this  meant,  I  am  in 
doubt.     I  have  recorded  it  as  Margaret  told  it  to  Hugh  after- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  273 

wards,  —  because  it  seems  to  indicate  something.  It  shows 
evidently  enough,  that  if  Euphra  had  more  than  an  usual  influ- 
ence over  servants  in  general,  she  had  a  great  deal  more  over 
this  maid  in  particular.  Was  this  in  virtue  of  a  power 
similar  to  that  of  Count  Halkar  over  herself?  And  was  this, 
or  something  very  diiFerent,  or  both  combined,  the  art  which 
he  had  accused  her  of  first  exercising  upon  him?  Might  the 
fact  that  her  defeat  had  resulted  in  such  absolute  subjection 
be  connected  with  her  possession  of  a  power  similar  to  his, 
which  she  had  matched  with  his  in  vain  ?  Of  course  I  only 
suggest  these  questions.     I  cannot  answer  them. 

At  one  o'clock,  the  carriage  came  round  to  the  door;  and 
Hugh,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Euphra  alone,  was  the  first  in  the 
hall.  Mrs.  Elton  and  Lady  Emily  presently  came,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  take  their  places,  without  seeming  to  expect  Miss 
Cameron.  Hugh  helped  them  into  the  carriage ;  but,  instead 
of  getting  in,  lingered,  hoping  that  Euphra  was  yet  going  to 
make  her  appearance. 

"I  fear  Miss  Cameron  is  unable  to  join  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Elton,  divining  his  delay. 

"Shall  I  run  upstairs,  and  knock  at  her  door?"  said 
Hugh. 

"Do,"  said  Mrs.  Elton,  who,  after  the  unsatisfactory  con- 
versation she  had  held  with  her  maid,  had  felt  both  uneasy  and 
curious,  all  the  morning. 

Hugh  bounded  upstairs  ;  but  just  as  he  was  going  to  knock, 
the  door  opened,  and  Euphra  appeared. 

"  Dear  Euphra  !  how  ill  you  look  !  "  exclaimed  Hugh. 

She  was  pale  as  death,  and  dark  under  the  eyes ;  and  had 
evidently  been  weeping. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  "  she  answered.  "  Never  mind.  It  is  only 
a  bad  headache.     Don't  take  any  notice  of  it." 

"  The  carriage  is  at  the  door.  Will  you  not  come  with 
us?" 

"With  whom?" 

"Lady  Emily  and  Mrs.  Eltou." 

"  I  am  sick  of  them." 

"  I  am  going,  Euphra." 

"  Stay  with  me." 

"  I  must  go.     I  promised  to  ^ake  care  of  them." 

18 


274  DAVID   ELGIjTBROD. 

"Oh,  nonsense!  What  should  haj^pen  to  them?  Stay 
with  me." 

"  No.     I  am  very  sorrj.     I  wish  I  could." 

"  Then  I  must  go  with  you,  I  suppose."  Yet  her  tone  ex- 
pressed annoyance. 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,"  cried  Hugh,  in  delight.  "  Make  haste. 
I  will  run  down,  and  tell  them  to  wait." 

He  bounded  away,  and  told  the  ladies  that  Euphra  would 
join  tliem  in  a  few  minutes. 

But  Euphra  was  cool  enough  to  inflict  on  them  quite 
twenty  minutes  of  Avaiting  ;  by  which  time  she  was  able  to  be- 
have with  tolerable  propriety.  When  she  did  appear  at  last, 
she  was  closely  veiled,  and  stepped  into  the  carriage  without 
once  showing  her  face.  But  she  made  a  very  pretty  apology 
for  the  delay  she  had  occasioned;  which  was  certainly  due, 
seeing  it  had  been  perfectly  intentional.  She  made  room  for 
Hugh ;  he  took  his  place  beside  her,  and  away  they  drove. 

Euphra  scarcely  spoke ;  but  begged  indulgence,  on  the 
ground  of  her  headache.  Lady  Emily  enjoyed  the  drive  very 
much,  and  said  a  great  many  pleasant  little  nothings. 

"  Would  you  like  a  glass  of  milk  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Elton  to  her, 
as  they  passed  a  farm-house  on  the  estate. 

"  I  should  —  very  much,"  answered  Lady  Emily. 

The  carriage  was  stopped,  and  the  servant  sent  to  beg  a 
glass  of  milk.  Euphra,  who,  from  riding  backward  with  a 
headache,  had  been  feeling  very  uncomfortable  for  some  time, 
wished  to  get  out  while  the  carriage  was  waiting.  Hugh 
jumped  out,  and  assisted  her.  She  walked  a  little  way,  lean- 
ing on  his  arm,  up  to  the  house,  where  she  had  a  glass  of 
water ;  after  which  she  said  she  felt  better,  and  returned  with 
him  to  the  carriage.  In  getting  in  again,  either  from  the 
carelessness  or  the  weakness  occasioned  by  suffering,  her  foot 
slipped  from  the  step,  and  she  fell  Avith  a  cry  of  alarm.  Hugh 
caught  her  as  she  fell ;  and  she  would  not  have  been  much 
injured,  had  not  the  horses  started  and  sprung  forward  at  the 
moment,  so  that  the  hind  wheel  of  the  carriage  passed  over  her 
ankle.  Hugh,  raising  her  in  his  arms,  found  she  was  insensi- 
ble. 

He  laid  her  down  upon  the  grass  by  the  roadside.  Water 
was  procured,  but  she  showed  no  sign  of  recovering.     What 


DAVID    ELGIXBROD.  275 

vvas  to  be  done  ?  Mrs.  Elton  tliouslit  she  had  better  be  carried 
to  the  farm-house.  Hugh  judged  it  better  to  take  her  home  at 
once.     To  this,  after  a  little  argument,  Mrs.  Elton  agreed. 

They  lifted  her  into  the  carriage,  and  made  what  arrange- 
ments thej  best  could  to  allow  her  to  recline.  Blood  was  flow- 
ing from  her  foot;  and  it  was  so  much  swollen  that  it  was 
impossible  to  guess  at  the  amount  of  the  injury.  The  foot 
was  already  twice  the  size  of  the  other,  in  which  Hugh  for  the 
first  time  recognized  such  a  delicacy  of  form,  as,  to  his  fastid- 
ious eye  and  already  ensnared  heart,  would  have  been  perfectly 
enchanting,  but  for  the  agony  he  suffered  from  the  injury  to 
the  other.  Yet  he  could  not  help  the  thought  crossing  his 
mind,  that  her  habit  of  never  lifting  her  dress  was  a  very 
strange  one,  and  that  it  must  have  had  something  to  do  with 
the  present  accident.  I  cannot  account  for  this  habit,  but  on 
one  of  two  suppositions  :  that  of  an  affected  delicacy,  or  that  of. 
the  desire  that  the  beauty  of  her  feet  should  have  its  full 
power,  from  being  rarely  seen.  But  it  was  dreadful  to  think 
how  far  the  effects  of  this  accident  might  permanently  injure 
the  beauty  of  one  of  them. 

Hu^h  would  have  walked  home  that  she  micrht  have  more 
room,  but  he  knew  he  could  be  useful  when  they  arrived. 
He  seated  himself  so  as  to  support  the  injured  foot,  and  pre- 
vent, in  some  measure,  the  torturing  effects  of  the  motion  of 
the  carriage.  When  they  had  gone  about  half-way,  she  opened 
her  eyes  feebly,  glanced  at  him,  and  closed  them  again  with  a 
moan  of  pain. 

He  carried  her  in  his  arms  up  to  her  own  room,  and  laid  her 
on  a  couch.  She  thanked  him  by  a  pitiful  attempt  at  a  smile. 
He  mounted  his  horse,  and  galloped  for  a  surgeon. 

The  injury  was  a  serious  one ;  but,  until  the  swelling  could 
be  a  little  reduced,  it  was  impossible  to  tell  how  serious.  The 
surgeon,  however,  feared  that  some  of  the  bones  of  the  ankle 
might  be  crushed.  The  ankle  seemed  to  be  dislocated,  and  the 
suffering  was  frightful.  She  endured  it  well,  however,  —  so 
far  as  absolute  silence  constitutes  endurance. 

Hugh's  misery  was  extreme.  The  surgeon  had  required 
his  assistance  ;  but  a  suitable  nurse  soon  arrived,  and  there 
was  no  pretext  for  his  furtlier  presence  in  the  sick-chamber. 
He  wandered  about  the  grounds,    Harry  haunted  his  stops  like 


276  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

a  spaniel.  The  poor  boj  felt  it  mucli ;  and  the  suffering  ab- 
straction of  Hugh  sealed  up  his  chief  well  of  comfort.  At 
length  he  went  to  Mrs.  Elton,  who  did  her  best  to  console 
him. 

By  the  surgeon's  express  orders,  every  one  but  the  nurse 
was  excluded  from  Euphra's  room. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

MORE  TROUBLES. 

Come  on  and  do  your  best 
To  fright  me  with  your  sprites :  you're  powerful  at  it. 

You  smell  this  business  with  a  sense  as  cold 
As  is  a  dead  man's  nose. 

A  Winter's  Tale. 

When  Mr.  Arnold  came  home  to  dinner,  and  heard  of  the 
accident,  his  first  feeling,  as  is  the  case  with  weak  men.  was 
one  of  mingled  annoyance  and  anger.  Hugh  was  the  chief 
object  of  it ;  for  had  he  not  committed  the  ladies  to  his  care  ? 
And  the  economy  of  his  house  being  partially  disarranged  by 
it,  had  he  not  a  good  right  to  be  angry  ?  His  second  feeling 
was  one  of  concern  for  his  niece,  which  was  greatly  increased 
when  he  found  that  she  was  not  in  a  state  to  see  him.  Still 
nothing  must  interfere  with  the  order  of  things ;  and  when 
Hugh  went  into  the  drawing-room  at  the  usual  hour,  he 
found  Mr.  Arnold  standing  there  in  tail  coat  and  white  neck- 
cloth, looking  as  if  he  had  just  arrived  at  a  friend's  house,  to 
make  one  of  a  stupid  party.  And  the  party  which  sat  down 
to  dinner,  was  certainly  dreary  enough,  consisting  only,  be- 
sides the  host  himself,  of  Mrs.  Elton,  Hugh,  and  Harry. 
Lady  Emily  had  had  exertion  enough  for  the  day,  and  had  be- 
sides shared  in  the  shock  of  Euphra's  misfortune. 

Mr.  Ari^old  was  considerably  out  of  humor,  and  ready  to 
pounce  upon  any  object  of  complaint.  Pie  would  have  at- 
tacked Hui^h  with  a  pompous  speech  on  the  subject  of  his  care- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD,  277 

lessness ;  but  he  was  rather  afraid  of  his  tutor  now  ;  —  so  cer- 
tainly will  the  stronger  get  the  upper  hand  in  time.  He  did 
not  even  refer  to  the  subject  of  the  accident.  Therefore,  al- 
though it  filled  the  minds  of  all  at  table,  it  was  scarcely  more 
than  alluded  to.  But  having  nothing  at  hand  to  find  fault 
with  more  suitable,  he  laid  hold  of  the  first  wise  remark  vol- 
unteered by  good  Mrs.  Elton  ;  whereupon  an  amusing  pas  de 
deux  immediately  followed  ;  for  it  could  not  be  called  a  duel, 
inasmuch  as  each  antagonist  kept  skipping  harmlessly  about 
the  other,  exploding  theological  crackers,  firmly  believed  by 
the  discharger  to  be  no  less  than  bomb-shells.  At  length  Mrs. 
Elton  withdrew. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Sutherland,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  "have 
you  succeeded  in  deciphering  that  curious  inscription  yet?  I 
don't  like  the  ring  to  remain  long  out  of  my  own  keeping.  It 
is  quite  an  heirloom,  I  assure  you." 

Hugh  was  forced  to  confess  that  he  had  never  thought  of  fb 
again. 

"  Shall  I  fetch  it  at  once?  "  added  he. 

"  Oh  !  no,"  replied  Mr.  Arnold.  "  I  should  really  like  to 
understand  the  inscription.  To-morrow  will  do  jDcrfectly 
well." 

They  went  to  the  drawing-room.  Everything  was  wretched. 
However  many  gliosis  might  be  in  the  house,  it  seemed  to 
Hugh  that  there  was  no  soul  in  it  except  in  one  room.  The 
wind  sighed  fitfully,  and  the  rain  fell  in  slow,  soundless 
showers.  Mr.  Arnold  felt  the  vacant  oppression  as  well  as 
Hugh.  Mrs.  Elton  having  gone  to  Lady  Emily's  room,  he 
proposed  backgammon  ;  and  on  that  surpassing  game  the  gen- 
tlemen expended  the  best  part  of  two  dreary  hours.  When 
Hugh  reached  his  room  he  was  too  tired  and  spiritless  for  any 
intellectual  effort ;  and,  instead  of  trying  to  decipher  the  ring, 
went  to  bed,  and  slept  as  if  there  were  never  a  gtiost  or  a  woman 
in  the  universe. 

His  fiist  proceeding,  after  breakfast  next  day,  was  to  get 
together  his  German  books ;  and  his  next  to  take  out  the  ring, 
which  was  to  be  subjected  to  their  analytical  influences.  He 
went  to  his  desk,  and  opened  the  secret  place.  There  he 
stood  fixed.  The  ring  was  gone.  His  packet  of  papers  was 
there,  rather  crumpled ;  the  ring  was  nowhere.     What  had 


i?78  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

]iccome  of  it  ?  It  was  not  long  before  a  conclusion  suggested 
itself.     It  flashed  upon  him  all  at  once. 

"  The  ghost  has  got  it,"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "  It  is  shining 
now  on  her  dead  finger.  It  loas  Ladj  Euphrasia.  She  was 
goinii;  for  it  then.  It  wasn't  on  her  thumb  when  she  went.  She 
came  back  Avith  it,  shining  through  the  dark  —  stepped  over 
me,  perhaps,  as  I  lay  on  the  floor  in  her  way." 

He  shivered,  like  one  in  an  ague-fit. 

Again  and  again,  with  that  frenzied,  mechanical  motion, 
which,  like  the  eyes  of  a  ghost,  has  "no  speculation"  in  it, 
he  searched  the  receptacle,  although  it  freely  confessed  its 
emptiness  to  any  asking  eye.  Then  he  stood  gazing,  and  his 
heart  seemed  to  stand  still  likewise. 

But  a  new  thought  stung  him,  turning  him  almost  sick  with 
a  sense  of  loss.  Suddenly  and  frantically  he  dived  his  hand 
into  the  place  yet  again,  useless  as  he  knew  the  search  to  be. 
He  took  up  his  papers,  and  scattered  them  loose.  It  was  all 
unavailing;   his  father's  ring  was  gone  as  well. 

He  sank  on  a  chair  for  a  moment;  but,  instantly  recovering, 
found  himself,  before  he  was  quite  aware  of  his  own  resolution, 
half  way  downstairs,  on  his  way  to  Mr.  Arnold's  room.  It 
was  empty.  He  rang  for  his  servant.  Mr.  Arnold  had  gone 
away  on  horseback,  and  would  not  be  home  till  dinner-time. 
Counsel  from  Mrs.  Elton  was  hopeless.  Help  from  Euphra 
he  could  not  ask.  He  returned  to  his  own  room.  There  he 
found  Harry  waiting  for  him.  His  neglected  pupil  was  now 
his  only  comforter.      Such  are  the  revenges  of  divine  goodness. 

"  Harry  !  "  he  said,   "  I  hav6  been  robbed." 

"  Robbed  !  "  cried  Harry,  starting  up.  "  Never  mind,  Mr, 
Sutherhtnd;  my  papa's  a  justice  of  the  peace.  He'll  catch 
the  thief  for  you." 

"  But  it's  your  papa's  ring  that  they've  stolen.  He  lent  it 
to  me,  and  what  if  he  should  not  believe  me  ?  " 

"  Not  believe  you,  Mr.  Sutherland?  But  he  must  believe 
you.  I  will  tell  him  all  about  it ;  and  he  knows  I  never  told 
him  a  lie  in  my  life." 

"  But  you  don't  know  anything  about  it^  Harry." 

"  But  you  will  tell  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

Hugh  could  not  help  smiling  with  pleasure  at  the  ponfi- 
dence  his  pupil  placed  in  him.     He  had  not  much  fear  about 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  279 

being  believed,  but,  at  the  best,  it  was  an  ulipleasant  occur- 
rence. 

The  loss  of  his  own  ring  not  onlj  added  to  his  vexation,  but 
to  his  perplexity  as  well.  What  could  she  want  with  his  ring  ? 
Could  she  have  carried  with  her  such  a  passion  for  jewels,  as 
to  come  from  the  grave  to  appropriate  those  of  others  as  well 
as  to  reclaim  her  OAvn  ?  Was  this  lier  comfort  in  Hades,  ' '  poor 
ghost"? 

Would  it  be  better  to  tell  Mr.  Arnold  of  the  loss  of  botli 
rings,  or  should  he  mention  the  crystal  only  ?  He  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  would  only  exasperate  him  the  more,  and 
perhaps  turn  suspicion  upon  himself,  if  he  communicated  the 
fact  that  he,  too,  was  a  loser,  and  to  such  an  extent ;  for  Hugh's 
ring  was  worth  twenty  of  the  other,  and  was  certainly  as 
sacred  as  Mr.  Arnold's,  if  not  so  ancient.  He  would  bear  it 
in  silence.  If  the  one  could  not  be  found,  there  could  cer- 
tainly be  no  hope  of  the  other. 

Punctual  as  the  clock,  Mr.  Arnold  returned.  It  did  not 
prejudice  him  in  favor  of  the  reporter  of  bad  tidings,  that  he 
be!J;2;ed  a  word  with  him  before  dinner,  when  that  was  on  the 
point  of  being  served.  It  was,  indeed,  exceeding  impolitic ; 
but  Hugh  would  have  felt  like  an  impostor,  had  he  sat  down 
to  the  table  before  making  his  confession. 

"  Mr.  Arnold,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  been  robbed,  and  in 
your  house  too," 

'•In?7i?/  house?     Of  what,  pray,  Mr.  Sutherland?" 

My.  Arnold  had  taken  the  information  as  some  weak  men  take 
any  kind  of  information  referring  to  themselves  or  their  be- 
longings, —  namely,  as  an  insult.  He  drew  himself  up,  and 
lowered  portentously. 

"  Of  your  ring,  Mr.  Arnold." 

"0/'  —  my  —  ring  ? ' ' 

And  lie  looked  at  his  ring-finger,  as  if  he  could,  not  under- 
stand the  import  of  Hugh's  words. 

"  Of  the  ring  you  lent  me  to  decipher,"  explained  Hugh. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Suther- 
land? A  ring  which  has  been  in  the  family  for  two  hundred 
years  at  least  !  Robbed  of  it  ?  In  my  house  ?  You  must 
have  been  disgracefully  careless,  Mr,  Sutherland.  You  have 
lost  it." 


280  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"Mr.  Arnold,"  said  Hugh,  with  dignity,  "I  am  above 
using  such  a  subterfuge,  even  if  it  were  not  certain  to  throw 
suspicion  where  it  was  undeserved." 

Mr.  Arnold  was  a  gentleman  as  far  as  his  self-importance 
allowed.  He  did  not  apologize  for  what  he  had  said,  but  he 
changed  his  manner  at  once. 

"I  am  quite  bcAvildered,  Mr.  Sutherland.  It  is  a  very  an- 
noying piece  of  news  —  for  many  reasons." 

"  I  can  show  you  where  I  laid  it,  — in  the  safest  corner  in 
my  room,  I  assure  yout" 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  It  is  enough  you  say  so.  We  must 
not  keep  the  dinner  waiting  now.  But  after  dinner  I  shall 
have  all  the  servants  up,  and  investigate  the  matter 
thoroughly." 

"So,"  thought  Hugh  with  himself,  "some  one  will  be 
made  a  felon  of,  because  the  cursed  dead  go  stalking  about  this 
infernal  house  at  midnight,  gathering  their  own  old  baubles. 
No,  that  will  not  do.  I  must  at  least  tell  Mr.  Arnold  what  I 
know  of  the  doings  of  the  night." 

So  Mr.  Arnold  must  still  wait  for  his  dinner ;  or  rather, 
which  was  really  of  more  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Ar- 
nold, the  dinner  must  be  kept  waiting  for  him.  For  order  and 
custom  were  two  of  Mr.  Arnold's  divinities  ;  and  the  economy 
of  his  whole  nature  was  apt  to  be  disturbed  by  any  interrup- 
tion of  their  laws,  such  as  the  postponement  of  dinner  for  ten 
minutes.  He  was  walking  towards  the  door,  and  turned  Avith 
some  additional  annoyance  when  Hugh  addressed  him  again  :  — 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Arnold,  if  you  please." 

Mr.  Arnold  merely  turned  and  waited. 

' '  I  fear  I  shall  in  some  degree  forfeit  your  good  opinion  by 
what  I  am  about  to  say,  but  I  must  run  the  risk." 

Mr.  Arnold  still  waited. 

"  There  is  more  about  the  disappearance  of  the  ring  than  I 
can  understand." 

"  Or  I  either,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

' '  But  I  must  tell  you  what  happened  to  myself,  the  night 
that  I  kept  watch  in  Lady  Euphrasia's  room." 

"  You  said  you  slept  soundly." 

"  So  I  did,  part  of  the  time." 

"  Then  you  kept  back  part  of  the  truth  ?  " 

"I  did." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  281 

"  Was  that  worthy  of  you  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  best.    I  doubted  myself." 

"What  has  caused  you  to  change  your  mind  now  ?  " 

"  This  event  about  the  ring." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  How  do  you  even  know 
that  it  was  taken  on  that  night  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know;  for  till  this  morning  I  had  not  opened 
the  place  where  it  lay  ;   I  only  suspect. ' " 

"  I  am  a  mag-istrate,  Mr.  Sutherland  ;  I  Avould  rather  not  be 
prejudiced  by  suspicions." 

"  Tlie  person  to  whom  my  suspicions  refer  is  beyond  your 
jurisdiction,  Mr.  Arnold." 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  I  will  explain  myself." 

Hugh  gave  Mr.  Arnold  a  hurried  yet  circumstantial  sketcli 
of  the  apparition  he  believed  he  had  seen. 

"What  am  I  to  judge  from  all  this?"  asked  he,  coldly, 
almost  contemptuously. 

"  I  have  told  you  the  facts  ;  of  course  I  must  leave  the  con- 
clusions to  yourself,  Mr.  Arnold ;  but  I  confess,  for  my  part, 
that  any  disbelief  I  had  in  apparitions  is  almost  entirely  re- 
moved since  —  " 

"  Since  you  dreamed  you  saw  one." 

"  Since  the  disappearance  of  the  ring,"  said  Hugh. 

"Bah!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Arnold,  with  indignation.  "Can 
a  ghost  fetch  and  carry  like  a  spaniel  ?  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  am 
ashamed  to  have  such  a  reasoner  for  tutor  to  my  son.  Come  to 
dinner,  and  do  not  let  me  hear  another  word  of  this  folly.  I 
beg  you  will  not  mention  it  to  any  one." 

"I  have  been  silent  hitherto,  Mr.  Arnold;  but  circum- 
stances, such  as  the  commitment  of  any  one  on  the  charge  of 
stealing  the  ring,  might  compel  me  to  mention  the  matter.  It 
would  be  for  the  jury  to  determine  whether  it  was  relevant  or 
not." 

It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Arnold  was  more  annoyed  at  the 
imputation  against  the  nocturnal  habits  of  his  house  than  at 
the  loss  of  the  ring,  or  even  its  possible  theft  by  one  of  his  ser- 
vants. He  looked  at  Hugh  for  a  moment  as  if  he  would  break 
into  a  furious  rage  ;  then  his  look  gradually  changed  into  one 
of  suspicion,  and,  turning  without  another  word,  he  led  the 


282  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

way  to  the  dining-room,  followed  by  Hugh.  To  have  a  ghost 
held  in  his  face  in  this  fashion,  one  bred  in  his  own  house  too, 
when  he  had  positively  declared  his  absolute  contempt  for 
every  legend  of  tlie  sort,  was  more  than  man  could  bear.  He 
sat  down  to  dinner  in  gloomy  silence,  breaking  it  only  as  often 
as  he  was  compelled  to  do  the  duties  of  a  host,  which  he  per- 
formed with  a  greater  loftiness  of  ceremony  than  usual. 

There  was  no  summoning  of  the  servants  after  dinner  how- 
ever. Hugh's  warning  had  been  effectual.  Nor  was  the  sub- 
ject once  more  alluded  to  in  Hugh's  hearing.  No  doubt  Mr. 
Arnold  felt  that  something  ought  to  be  done ;  but  I  presume 
he  never  could  make  up  his  mind  what  that  something  ought 
to  be.  Whether  any  reasons  for  not  prosecuting  the  inquiry  had 
occurred  to  him  upon  further  reflection,  I  am  unable  to  tell. 
One  thing  is  certain,  —  that  from  this  time  he  ceased  to  behave 
to  Hugh  with  that  growing  cordiality  which  he  had  shown  him 
for  weeks  past.  It  was  no  great  loss  to  Hugh  ;  but  he  felt  it ; 
and  all  the  more,  because  he  could  not  help  associating  it  with 
that  look  of  suspicion,  the  remains  of  which  were  still  discern- 
ible on  Mr.  Arnold's  face.  Although  he  could  not  determine 
the  exact  direction  of  Mr.  Arnold's  suspicions,  he  felt  that  they 
bore  upon  something  associated  with  the  crystal  ring,  and  the 
story  of  the.  phantom-lady.  Consequently,  there  was  little 
more  of  comfort  for  him  at  Arnstead. 

Mr.  Arnold,  however,  did  not  reveal  his  change  of  feeling 
so  much  by  neglect  as  by  ceremony,  which,  sooner  than  any- 
thing else,  builds  a  wall  of  separation  between  those  who  meet 
every  day.  For  the  oftener  they  meet,  the  thicker  and  the 
faster  are  the  bricks  and  mortar  of  cold  politeness,  evidently 
avoided  insults,  and  subjected  manifestations  of  dislike,  laid 
together. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  283 

CHAPTER   XLIII. 

A  bird's-eye  view. 


Oh,  cocks  are  crowing  a  merry  midnight. 

I  wot  tho  wild-fowls  are  boding  day; 
Give  me  my  faith  and  troth  again, 

And  let  me  faro  me  on  my  way._ 


Sae  painfully  she  clam  tho  wa', 

She  clam  the  wa'  up  after  him; 
Hosen  nor  shoon  upon  her  feet, 
She  hadna  time  to  put  them  on. 

Scotch  Ballad. — Clerk  Saunders. 

Dreary  days  passed.  The  reports  of  Euphra  were  .as 
favorable  as  the  nature  of  the  injury  had  left  room  to  expect. 
Still  they  were  but  reports.  Hugh  could  not  see  her,  and  thQ 
days  passed  drearily.  He  heard  that  the  swelling  was  reduced, 
and  that  the  ankle  was  found  not  to  be  dislocated,  but  that  the 
bones  were  considerably  injured,  and  that  the  final  effect  upon 
the  use  of  the  parts  was  doubtful.  The  pretty  foot  lay  aching 
in  Hugh's  heart.  When  Harry  went  to  bed,  he  used  to  walk 
out  and  loiter  about  the  grounds,  full  of  anxious  fears  and  no 
less  anxious  hopes.  If  the  night  was  at  all  obscure,  he  would 
pass,  as  often  as  he  dared,. under  Euphra's  window ;  for  all  he 
could  have  of  her  noAV  was  a  few  rays  from  the  same  light  that 
lighted  her  chamber.  Then  he  would  steal  away  down  the 
main  avenue,  and  thence  watch  the  same  light,  whose  beams, 
in  that  strange  play  which  the  intellect  will  keep  up  in  spite 
of,  yet  in  association  with,  the  heart,  made  a  photo-mate- 
rialist of  him.  For  he  would  now  no  longer  believe  in  the  pul- 
sations of  an  ethereal  medium  ;  but — that  the  very,  material 
rays  which  enlightened  Euphra's  face,  whether  she  waked  or 
slept,  stole  and  filtered  through  the  blind  and  the  gathered 
shadows,  and  entered  in  bodily  essence  into  the  mysterious 
convolutions  of  his  brain,  where  his  soul  and  heart  sought  and 
found  them. 

When  a  week  had  passed,  she  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  be 
able  to  see  Mr.  Arnold ;  from  whom  Hugh  heard,  in  a  some- 
what reproachful  tone,  that  she  was  but  the  wreck  of  her  for- 
mer self.     It  was  all  that  Hu<ih  could  do  to  restrain  the  natu- 


284  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

ral  outbreak  of  his  feelings.  A  fortnight  passed,  and  she  saw 
]\Irs.  Elton  and  Lady  Emilj  for  a  few  moments.  They  would 
have  left  before,  but  had  yielded  to  Mr.  Arnold's  entreaty,  and 
were  staying  till  Euphi  a  sliould  be  at  least  able  to  be  carried 
from  her  room. 

One  day,  when  the  visitors  were  out  with  Mr.  Arnold,  Jane 
brought  a  message  to  Hugh,  requesting  him  to  walk  into  Miss 
Cameron's  room,  for  she  wanted  to  see  him.  Hugh  felt  his 
heart  flutter  as  if  doubting  Avhether  to  stop  at  once,  or  to  dash 
throui!;h  its  confinin-jf  bars.  He  rose  and  followed  the  maid. 
He  stood  over  Euphra,  pale  and  speechless.  She  lay  before 
him  wasted  and  wan ;  her  eyes  twice  their  former  size,  but 
with  half  their  former  light ;  her  fingers  long  and  transparent ; 
apd  her  voice  low  and  feeble.  She  had  just  raised  herself  with 
diflBculty  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  the  effort  had  left  her  more 
weary. 

"  Hugh  !  "  she  said   kindly. 

"  Dear  Euphra  !  "  he  answered,  kissing  the  little  hand  he 
held  in  his. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  little  while,  and  the  tears  rose  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Hugh,  I  am  a  cripple  for  life." 

"  God  forbid,  Euphra  !  "  was  all  he  could  reply. 

She  shook  her  head  mournfully.  Then  a  strange,  wild  look 
came  in  her  eyes,  and  grew  till  it  seemed  from  them  to  over- 
flow and  cover  her  whole  face  with  a  troubled  expression,  which 
increased  to  a  look  of  dull  agony. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Euphra?  "  said  Hugh,  in  alarm. 
"  Is  your  foot  very  painful  ?  '"' 

She  made  no  answer.      She  was  looking  fixedly  at  his  hand. 

"  Shall  I  callJane  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Can  I  do  nothing  for  you?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  almost  angrily. 

"Shall  I  go,  Euphra?" 

"Yes  — yes.     Go." 

He  left  the  room  instantly.  But  a  sharp  though  stifled  cry 
of  despair  drew  him  back  at  a  bound.     Euphra  had  fainted. 

He  rang  the  bell  for  Jane ;  and  lingered  till  he  saw  signs 
of  returning  consciousness. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  285 

What  could  this  mean  ?  He  was  more  perplexed  with  her 
than  ever  he  had  been.  Cunning  love,  however,  soon  found 
a  way  of  explaining  it.  A  waj  ?  —  Twenty  ways,  —  not  one 
of  them  the  way. 

Next  day,  Lady  Emily  brought  him  a  message  from 
Euphra,  —  not  to  distress  himself  about  her ;  it  was  not  his 
fault. 

This  message  the  bearer  of  it  understood  to  refer  to  the 
original  accident,  as  the  sender  of  it  intended  she  should  ;  the 
receiver  interpreted  it  of  the  occurrence  of  the  day  before,  as 
the  sender  likewise  intended.     It  comforted  him. 

It  had  become  almost  a  habit  with  Hugh  to  ascend  the  oak- 
tree  in  the  evening,  and  sit  alone,  sometimes  for  hours,  in  the 
nest  he  had  built  for  Harry.  One  time  he  took  a  book  with 
him;  another  he  went  without:  and  now  and  then  Harry  ac- 
companied him.  But  I  have  already  said  that  often  after  tea, 
when  the  house  became  oppressive  to  him  fr(fm  the  longing  tor 
see  Euphra,  he  would  wander  out  alone :  when,  even  in  the 
shadows  of  the  coming  night,  he  would  sometimes  climb  the 
nest,  and  there  sit,  hearing  all  that  the  leaves  whispered  about 
the  sleeping  birds,  without  listening  to  a  word  of  it,  or  trying 
to  interpret  it  by  the  kindred  sounds  of  his  own  inner  world, 
and  the  tree-talk  that  went  on  there  in  secret.  For  the 
divinity  of  that  inner  world  had  abandoned  it  for  the  present, 
in  pursuit  of  an  earthly  maiden.  So  its  birds  were  silent,  and 
its  trees  trembled  not. 

An  aging  moon  was  feeling  her  path  somewhere  through 
the  heavens ;  but  a  thin  veil  of  cloud  was  spread  like  a  tent 
binder  the  hyaline  dome  where  she  walked ;  so  that,  instead  of 
\  white  moon,  there  was  a  great  white  cloud  to  enlighten  the 
earth,  —  a  cloud  soaked  full  of  her  pale  rays.  Hugh  sat  in 
the  oak-nest.  He  knew  not  how  long  he  had  been  there. 
Light  after  light  was  extinguished  in  the  house,  and  still  he 
sat  there  brooding,  dreaming,  in  that  state  of  mind  in  which  to 
the  good,  good  things  come  of  themselves,  and  to  the  evil,  evil 
things.  The  nearness  of  the  Ghost's  Walk  did  not  trouble  him, 
for  he  was  too  much  concerned  about  Euphra  to  fear  ghost  or 
demon.  His  mind  heeded  them  not,  and  so  was  beyond  their 
influence. 

But  while  he  sat,  he  became  aware  of  human  voices.     He 


286  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

looked  out  from  his  leafy  screen,  and  saw  once'  more,  at  tlie 
end  of  the  Ghost's  Walk,  a  form  clothed  in  white.  But  there 
were  voices  of  two.  He  sent  his  soul  into  his  ears  to  listen. 
A  horrible,  incredible,  impossible  idea  forced  itself  upon  him, 
• — that  the  tones  wei'e  those  of  Euphra  and  Funkelstein.  The 
one  voice  was  weak  and  complaining ;  the  other  firm  and 
strong. 

"  It  must  be  some  horrible  ghost  that  imitates  her,"  he  said 
to  himself;  for  he  was  nearly  crazj  at  the  very  suggestion. 

He  would  see  ^nearer,  if  only  to  get  rid  of  that  frightful 
insinuation  of  the  tempter.  He  descended  the  tree  noiselessly. 
He  lost  sight  of  the  figure  as  he  did  so.  He  drew  near  the 
place  where  he  had  seen  it.  But  there  was  no  sound  of  voices 
now  to  guide  him.  As  he  came  within  sight  of  the  spot,  he 
saw  the  white  figure  in  the  arms  of  another,  a  man.  Her  head 
was  lying  on  his  shoulder.  A  moment  after,  she  was  lifted  in 
those  arms  and  boirne  towards  the  house,  —  down  the  Ghost's 
Avenue. 

A  burning  agony  to  be  satisfied  of  his  doubts  seized  on  Hugh. 
He  fled  like  a  deer  to  the  house  by  another  path ;  tried,  in  his 
suspicion,  the  library  window ;  found  it  open,  and  was  at  Eu- 
phra's  door  in  a  moment.  Here  he  hesitated.  She  must  be 
inside.     How  dare  he  knock  or  enter  ? 

If  she  was  tliere,  she  would  be  asleep.  He  would  not  wake 
her.  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  He  would  risk  anything  to 
be  rid  of  this  horrible  doubt. 

He  gently  opened  the  door.  The  night-light  was  burning. 
He  thought,  at  first,  that  Euphra  was  in  the  bed.  He  felt  like 
a  thief,  but  he  stole  nearer.  She  loas  not  tliere.  She  was  not 
on  the  couch.  She  was  not  in  the  room  Jane  Avas  fast  asleep 
in  the  dressing-room.     It  was  enough. 

He  withdrew.  He  would  watch  at  his  door  to  see  her 
return,  for  she  must  pass  his  door  to  reach  her  own.  He 
waited  a  time  that  seemed  liours.  At  length  —  horrible,  far 
more  horrible  to  him  than  the  vision  of  the  ghost  —  Euphra 
crept  past  him,  appearing  in  the  darkness  to  crawl  along  the 
wall  against  which  she  supported  herself,  and  scarcely  sup- 
pressing her  groans  of  pain.  She  reached  her  own  room,  and, 
entering,  closed  the  door. 

Hugh  was  nearly  mad.     He  rushed  down  the  stair  to  the 


DAVID   ELGINBHOD.  287 

library,  and  out  into  the  wood.  "Why  or  whither  he  knew 
not. 

Suddenly  he  received  a  blow  on  the  head.  It  did  not  stun 
him,  but  he  staggered  under  it.  Ilad  he  run  against  a  tree  ? 
No.  There  was  the  dim  bulk  of  a  man  disappearing  through 
the  boles.  He  darted  after  him.  The  man  heard  his  footsteps, 
stopped,  and  Avaited  in  silence.  As  Hugh  came  up  to  him,  he 
made  a  thrust  at  him  with  some  weapon.  He  missed  his  aim. 
The  weapon  passed  through  his  coat  and  under  his  arm.  The 
next  moment,  Hugh  had  wrenched  the  sword-stick  from  him, 
thrown  it  away,  and  grappled  with  —  Funkelstein.  But, 
strong  as  Hugh  was,  the  Bohemian  was  as  strong,  and  the 
contest  was  doubtful.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  in  the  midst 
of  it,  while  each  held  the  other  unable  to  move,  the  conviction 
flashed  upon  Hugh's  mind,  that,  whoever  might  have  taken 
Lady  Euphrasia's  ring,  he  was  grappling  with  the  thief  of  his 
father's. 

"  Give  me  my  ring,"  gasped  he. 

An  imprecation  of  a  sufficiently  emphatic  character  was  the 
only  reply.  The  Bohemian  got  one  hand  loose,  and  Hugh 
heard  a  sound  like  the  breaking  of  glass.  Before  he  could 
gain  any  advantage  — for  his  antagonist  seemed  for  the  moment 
to  have  concentrated  all  his  force  in  the  other  hand  —  a  wet 
handkerchief  was  held  firmly  to  his  face.  His  fierceness  died 
away ;  he  was  lapped  in  the  vapor  of  dreams,  and  his  senses 
departed. 


288  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER  XL  IV. 
hu3h's  awaking. 


But  ah  !  believe  me,  there  is  more  than  so, 
That  works  such  wonders  in  tlio  minds  of  men; 
I,  that  have  often  proved,  too  well  it  know; 
And  whoso  list  the  like  assays  to  ken, 
Shall  find  by  trial,  and  confess  it  then, 
That  beauty  is  not,  as  fond  men  misdeem, 
An  outward  shew  of  things  that  only  seem! 


But  ye,  fair  dames,  the  world's  dear  ornaments, 

And  lively  images  of  lieaven's  light, 

Let  not  your  beams  with  such  disparagements 

Be  dimmed,  and  your  bright  glory  darkened  quite, 

But,  mindful  still  cf  your  first  country's  sight. 

Do  still  preserve  your  'irst  informed  grace. 

Whose  shadow  yet  shines  in  your  beauteous  face. 

Spenser.  —  Hymn  in  Hoior  of  BtarUy 

When  Hugh  cawo  to  himself,  he  was  lying,  in  the  first 
gray  of  the  dawn,  am^st  the  dews  and  vapors  of  the  raorning 
woods.  He  ro?e  and  looked  around  him.  The  Ghost's  Walk 
laj  in  long  silence  before  him.  Here  and  there  a  little  bird 
moved  and  peeped.  The  glorj  of  a  new  day  was  climbing  up 
the  eastern  coast  of  heaven.  It  would  be  a  day  of  late  summer, 
crowned  with  flame,  and  throbbing  with  ripening  life.  But 
for  him  the  spirit  was  gone  out  of  the  world,  and  it  was  nought 
but  a  mass  of  blind,  heartless  forces. 

Possibly,  had  he  overheard  the  conversation,  the  motions 
only  of  which  he  had  overseen  the  preceding  night,  he  would, 
although  equally  perplexed,  have  thought  more  gently  of  Eu- 
phra ;  but,  in  the  mood  into  which  even  then  he  must  have 
been  thrown,  his  deeper  feelings  towards  her  could  hardly  have 
been  different  from  what  they  were  now.  Although  he  had 
rften  felt  that  Euphra  was  not  very  good,  not  a  suspicion  had 
crossed  his  mind  as  to  what  he  would  have  called  the  purity 
of  her  nature.  Like  many  youths,  even  of  character  inferior 
to  his  own,  he  had  the  loftiest  notions  of  feminine  grace,  and 
unspottedness  in  thought  and  feeling,  not  to  say  action  and  aim. 
Now  he  found  that  he  had  loved  a  woman  who  would  creep 
from  her  chamber,  at  the  cost  of  great  suffering,  and  almost  at 
the  risk  of  her  life,  to  meet,  in  the  night  and  the  woods,  a  man 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  289 

no  Letter  than  an  assassin, —  probably  a  thief.  Had  Le  been 
more  versed  in  the  ways  of  women,  or  in  the  probabilities  of 
things,  he  would  have  judged  that  the  very  extrava^nce  of  the 
action  demanded  a  deeper  explanation  that  what  seemed  to  lie 
on  the  surface.  Yet,  although  he  judged  Eupbra  very  hardly 
upon  those  grounds,  Avould  he  have  judged  her  differently  had 
he  actually  known  all?  About  this  I  am  left  to  conjecture 
alone. 

But  the  effect  on  Hugh  was  different  from  what  the  ordinary 
reader  of  human  nature  might  anticipate.  Instead  of  being 
torn  in  pieces  by  storms  of  jealousy,  all  the  summer  growths 
of  his  love  were  chilled  by  an  absolute  frost  of  death.  A  kind 
of  annihilation  sank  upon  the  image  of  Euphra.  There  had 
been  no  such  Euphra.  She  had  been  but  a  creation  of  his  own 
brain.  It  was  not  so  much  that  he  ceased  to  love,  as  that  the 
being  beloved  —  not  died,  but  —  ceased  to  exist.  There  were 
moments  in  which  he  seemed  to  love  her  still  with  a  wild  out- 
cry of  passion  ;  but  the  frenzy  soon  vanished  in  the  selfish 
feeling  of  his  own  loss.  His  love  was  not  a  high  one, —  not 
such  as  thine,  my  Falconer.  Thine  was  love  indeed ;  though 
its  tale  is  too  good  to  tell,  simply  because  it  is  too  good  to  be 
believed  ;  and  we  do  men  a  wrong  sometimes  when  we  tell  them 
more  than  they  can  receive. 

Thought,  speculation,  suggestion,  crowded  upon  each  other, 
till  at  length  his  mind  sank  passive,  and  served  only  as  the 
lists  in  which  the  antagonist  thoughts  fought  a  confused  battle 
without  herald  or  umpire. 

But  it  is  amazing  to  think  how  soon  he  began  to  look  back 
upon  his  former  fascination  with  a  kind  of  wondering  unbelief. 
This  bespoke  the  strength  of  Hugh's  ideal  sense,  as  well  as  the 
weakness  of  his  actual  love.  He  could  hardly  even  recall  the 
feelings  with  which,  on  some  well-remembered  occasion,  he  had 
regarded  her,  and  which  then  it  had  seemed  impossible  he 
should  ever  forget.  Had  he  discovered  the  cloven  foot  of  a 
demon  "under  those  trailing  garments,  he  could  hardly  have 
ceased  to  love  her  more  suddenly  or  entirely.  But  there  is  an 
aching  that  is  worse  to  bear  than  pain. 

I  trust  my  reader  will  not  judge  very  hardly  of  Hugh,  be- 
cause of  the  change  which  had  thus  suddenly  passed  upon  his 
feelings.     He  felt  now  just  as  he  had  felt  on  waking  in  the 

19 


290  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

morning  and  finding  that  he  had  been  in  love  with  a  dreara-< 
lady  ?11  the  night ;  it  had  been  very  delightful,  and  it  was  sad 
that  it  was  all  gone,  and  could  come  back  no  more.  But  the 
wonder  to  me  is,  not  that  some  loves  Avill  not  stand  the  test  of 
absence,  but  that,  their  nature  being  what  it  is,  they  should 
outlast  one  week  of  familiar  intercourse. 

He  mourned  bitterly  over  the  loss  of  those  feelings,  for  they 
had  been  precious  to  him.  But  could  he  help  it  ?  Indeed  he 
could  not ;  for  his  love  had  been  fascination ;  and  the  fascination 
having  ceased,  the  love  was  gone. 

I  believe  some  of  ray  readers  will  not  need  this  apology  for 
Hugh  ;  but  will  rather  admire  the  fixcility  with  which  he  rose 
above  a  misplaced  passion,  and  dismissed  its  object.  So  do  not 
I.  It  came  of  his  having  never  loved.  Had  he  really  loved 
Euphra,  herself,  her  own  self,  the  living  woman  who  looked  at 
him  out  of  those  eyes,  out  of  that  face,  such  pity  Avould  have 
blended  with  the  love  as  would  have  made  it  greater,  and 
permitted  no  indignation  to  overwhelm  it.  As  it  was,  he  was 
utterly  passive  and  helpless  in  the  matter.  The  fault  lay  in 
the  original  weakness  that  submitted  to  be  so  fascinated  ;  that 
gave  in  to  it,  notwithstanding  the  vague  expostulations  of  his 
better  nature,  and  the  consciousness  that  he  was  neglecting  his 
duty  to  Harry,  in  order  to  please  Euphra  and  enjoy  her 
society.  Had  he  persisted  in  doing  his^duty,  it  would  at  least 
have  kept  his  mind  more  healthy,  lessened  the  absorption  of 
his  passion,  and  given  him  opportunities  of  reflection,  and 
moments  of  true  perception  as  to  what  he  was  about.  But  now 
tlic  spell  was  broken  at  once,  and  the  poor  girl  had  lost  a 
worshipper.  The'  golden  image  with  the  feet  of  clay  might 
arise  in  a  prophet's  dream,  but  it  could  never  abide  in  such  a 
lover's.  Her  glance  was  powerless  now.  Alas,  for  the 
withering  of  such  a  dream  !  Perhaps  she  deserved  nothing 
else  ;  but  our  deserts,  when  we  get  them,  are  sad  enough  some- 
times. 

All  that  day  he  walked  as  in  a  dream  of  loss.  As  for  the 
person  whom  he  had  used  to  call  Euphra,  she  was  removed  to 
a  vast  distance  from  him.-  An  absolutely  impassable  gulf  lay 
between  them. 

She  §ent  for  him.  He  went  to  her  filled  with  a  sense  of  in- 
sensibility.     She  was  much  Avorse,  and  suffering  great  pain. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  291 

Hui^h  saw  at  once  that  she  knew  that  all  was  ovei  between 
them,  and  that  he  had  seen  her  pass  his  door,  or  had  been  in 
her  room,  for  he  had  left  her  door  a  little  open,  and  she  had 
left  it  shut.  One  pathetic,  most  pitiful  glance  of  deprecating 
entreaty  she  fixed  upon  him,  as,  after  a  few  moments  of  speech- 
less waiting,  he  turned  to  leave  the  room,  —  Avhich  would  have 
remained  deathless  in  his  heart,  but  that  he  interpreted  it  to 
mean,  '■  Don't  tell :  "  so  he  got  rid  of  it  at  once  bj  the  grant 
of  its  supposed  request.  She  made  no  effort  to  detain  him. 
She  turned  her  face  away,  and.  hard-hearted,  he  heard  her 
sob,  not  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  —  that  is  little,  —  but  like 
an  immortal  woman  in  immortal  agony,  and  he  did  not  turn  to 
comfort  her.  Perhaps  it  Avas  better,  —  how  could  he  comfort 
her  ?  Some  kinds  of  comfort  —  the  only  kinds  which  poor 
mortals  sometimes  have  to  give  —  are  like  the  food  on  which 
the  patient  and  the  disease  live  together ;  and  some  griefs  are 
soonest  got  rid  of  by  letting  them  burn  out.  All  the  fire- 
engines  in  creation  can  only  prolong  the  time,  and  increase  the 
sense  of  burning.  There  is  but  one  cure :  the  fellow-feeling 
of  the  human  God,  which  converts  the  agony  itself  into  the 
creative  fire  of  a  higher  life. 

As  for  Yon  Funkelstein,  Hugh  comforted  himself  with  the 
conviction  that  they  were  destined  to  meet  again. 

The  day  went  on,  as  days  will  go,  unstayed,  unhastened  by 
the  human  souls,  through  which  they  glide  silent  and  awful. 
After  such  lessons  as  he  was  able  to  get  through  with  Harry, 
—  who,  feeling  that  his  tutor  did  not  want  him,  left  the  room 
as  soon  as  they  were  over,  —  he  threw  himself  on  the  couch, 
and  tried  to  think.  But  think  he  could  not.  Thoughts  passed 
through  him ;  but  he  did  not  think  them.  He  was  powerless 
in  regard  to  them.  They  came  and  went  of  their  own  will : 
he  could  neither  say  come  nor  go.  Tired  at  length  of  the 
couch,  he  got  up  and  paced  about  the  room  for  hours.  When 
he  came  to  himself  a  little,  he  found  that  the  sun  was  nearly 
setting.  Through  the  top  of  a  beech-tree  taller  than  the  rest 
it  sent  a  golden  light,  full  of  the  floating  shadows  of  leaves  and 
branches,  upon  the  Avail  of  his  room.  But  there  Avas  no 
beauty  foi-  him  in  the  going  down  of  the  sun  ;  no  glory  in  the 
golden  light :  no  message  from  dream-land  in  the  flitting  and 
blending  and  parting,  the  constantly  dissolving  yet  ever  ro- 


292  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

maining  plily  of  the  lovely  and  wonderful  shadowrleaves.  The 
sun  sank  below  the  beech-top,  and  was  hidden  behind  a  cloud 
of  green  leaves,  thick  as  the  wood  was  deep.  A  gray  light 
instead  of  a  golden  filled  the  room.  The  change  had  no  inter- 
est for  him.  The  pain  of  a  lost  passion  tormented  him,  —  the 
achin<T  that  came  of  the  falling  to";ether  of  the  ethereal  walls 
cif  his  soul  about  the  space  where  there  had  been  and  where 
"here  was  no  longer  a  <vorkl. 

A  young  bird  flew  against  the  window,  and  fluttered  its 
wings  two  or  three  times,  vainly  seeking  to  overcome  the  un- 
seen obstacle  which  the  glass  presented  to  its  flight.  Hugh 
started  and  shuddered.  Then  first  he  knew,  in  the  influence 
of  the  signs  of  the  approaching  darkness,  how  much  his  nerves 
had  suffered  from  the  change  that  had  passed.  ^  He  took  refuge 
with  Harry.  His  pupil  was  noAv  to  be  his  consoler ;  who  in 
his  turn  Avould  fare  henqeforth  the  better,  for  the  decay  of 
Hugh's  pleasures.  The  poor  boy  was  filled  with  delight  at 
having  his  big  brother  all  to  himself  again,  and  worked  harder 
than  ever  to  make  the  best  of  his  privileges.  For  Hugh,  it 
was  wonderful  how  soon  his  peace  of  mind  began  to  return 
after  he  gave  himself  to  duty,  and  how  soon  the  clouds 
of  disappointment  descended  below  the  far  horizon,  leaving  the 
air  clear  above  and  around.  Painful  thoughts  about  Euphra 
would  still  present  themselves ;  but,  instead  of  becoming  more 
gentle  and  sorroAvful  as  the  days  went  on,  they  grew  more  and 
more  severe  and  unjust  and  angry.  He  even  entertained 
doubts  whether  she  did  not  know  all  about  the  theft  of  both 
rings,  for  to  her  only  had  he  discovered  the  secret  place  in  the 
old  desk.  If  she  was  capable  of  what  he  believed,  why  should 
she  not  be  capable  of  anytkiruj  else  ?  It  seemed  to  him  most 
simple  and  credible.  An  impure  woman  might  just  as  Avell  be 
a  thief  too.     I  am  only  describing  Hugh's  feelings. 

But  along  with  these  feelings  and  thoughts,  of  mingled  good 
and  bad,  came  one  feeling  which  he  needed  more  than  any,  — 
repentance.  Seated  alone  upon  a  fallen  tree  one  day,  the 
face  of  poor  Harry  came  back  to  him,  as  he  saw  it  first,  poring 
over  "  Polexander  "  in  the  library;  and,  full  of  the  joy  of  life 
himself,  notwithstanding  his  past  troubles,  strong  as  a  sunrise, 
and  hopeful  as  a  Prometheus,  the  quivering  perplexity  of  that 
sickly  little  face  smote  him  with  a  pang.     ' '  What  might  I  not 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  293 

have  doue  for  the  boj  ?  He,  too,  was  in  the  hands  of  the  en- 
chantress, and,  instead  of  freeing  him,  I  became  her  slave  to 
enchain  him  further."  Yet,  even  in  this,  he  did  Euphra  in- 
justice ;  for  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  laid 
her  plans  with  the  intention  of  keeping  the  boy  a  dwarf,  by 
giving  him  only  food  for  babes,  and  not  good  food  either,  with- 
holding from  him  every  stimulus  to  mental  digestion  and  con- 
sequent hunger ;  and  that  she  had  objects  of  her  own  in  doing 
so,  —  one,  perhaps,  to  keep  herself  necessary  to  the  boy  as  she 
was  to  the  father,  and  so  secure  the  future.  But  poor  Eu- 
phi'a's  own  nature  and  true  education  had  been  sadly  neglected. 
A  fine  knowledge  of  music  and  Italian,  and  the  development 
of  a  sensuous  sympathy  with  nature,  could  hardly  be  called 
education.  It  was  not  certainly  such  a  development  of  her 
own  nature  as  would  enable  her  to  sympathize  with  the  neces- 
sities of  a  boy's  nature.  Perhaps  the  worst  that  could  justly 
be  said  of  her  behavior  to  Harry  was,  that,  with  a  strong  incR- 
nation  to  despotism,  and  some  feeling  of  loneliness,  she  had  ex- 
ercised the  one  upon  him  in  order  to  alleviate  the  other  in 
herself  Upon  him,  therefore,  she  expended  a  certain,  or 
rather  an  uncertain,  kind  of  affection,  which,  if  it  might  have 
been  more  fittingly  spent  upon  a  lapdog,  and  was  worth  but 
little,  might  yet  have  become  worth  everything,  had  she  been 
moderately  good. 

Hugh  did  not  see  Euphra  again  for  more  than  a  fortnight. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


CHANGES. 

Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonny  wi'  thyme! 

And  the  thyme  it  is  withered,  and  rue  is  in  prinle. 

Refrain  of  an  old  Scotch  song,  altered  by  BURXS. 

He  hath   wronged  me;  indeed  he   hath; — at  a  word,  he  hath ; — believe  me; 
Robert  Shallow,  Esquire,  saith  he  is  wronged. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

At  length,  one  evening,  entering  the  drawing-room  before 
dinner,  Hugh  found  Euphra  there  alone.     He  bowed  with  em- 


294  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

barrassment,  and  uttered  some  commonplace  congratulation  on 
her  recovery.  She  answered  him  gentlj  and  coldly.  Iler 
whole  air  and  appearance  were  signs  of  acute  suffering.  She 
did  not  make  the  slightest  approach  to  their  former  familiarity, 
but  she  spoke  without  any  embarrassment,  like  one  wiio  had 
given  herself  up,  and  was,  therefore,  indifferent.  Hugh  could 
not  hel})  feeling  as  if  she  knew  every  thought  that  was  passing 
in  his  mind,  and  having  withdrawn  herself  from  him,  Avas 
watching  him  with  a  cold,  ghostly  interest.  She  took  liis  arm 
to  go  into  the  dining-room,  and  actually  leaned  upon  it,  as, 
indeed,  she  was  compelled  to  do.  Her  uncle  was  delighted  to 
see  her  once  more.  ]\Irs.  Elton  addressed  her  with  kindness, 
and  Lady  Emily  with  sweet  coriliality.  She  herself  seemed  to 
care  for  nobody  and  nothing.  As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  she 
sent  for  her  maid,  and  Avithch'ew  to  her  own  room.  It  was  a 
great  relief  to  Hugh  to  feel  that  he  was  no  longer  in  danger 
of  encountering  her  eyes. 

Gradually  she  recovered  strength,  though  it  was  again  some 
days  before  she  appeared  at  the  dinner-table.  The  distance 
between  Hugh  ancl  her  seemed  to  increase  instead  of  diminish, 
till  at  length  he  scarcely  dared  to  offer  her  the  smallest  civil- 
ity, lest  she  should  despise  him  as  a  hypocrite.  The  further 
she  removed  herself  from  him,  the  more  he  felt  inclined  to  re- 
spect her.  By  common  consent  they  avoided,  as  much  as 
before,  any  behavior  that  might  attract  attention ;  though 
the  effort  was  of  a  very  different  nature  now.  It  was 
wretched  enough,  no  doubt,  for  both  of  them. 

The  time  drew  near  for  Lady  Emily's  departure. 

"What  are  your  plans  for  the  winter,  Mrs.  Elton?"  said 
Mr.  Arnold,  one  day. 

"  I  intend  spending  the  winter  in  London,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  you  are  not  going  with  Lady  Emily  to  Madeira?  " 

"  No.  Her  father  and  one  of  her  sisters  are  going  with 
her." 

"I  have  a  great  mind  to  spend  the  winter  abroad  myself; 
but  the  difficulty  is  what  to  do  with  Harry." 

"  Could  you  not  leave  him  with  Mr.  Sutherland?" 

"  No.     I  do  not  choose  to  do  that." 

"  Then  let  him  come  to  me.  I  shall  have  all  my  little  es- 
tablishment up,  and  there  will  be  plenty  of  room  for  Harry." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  295 

"  A  veiy  kind  offer.      I  may  possibly  avail  myself  of  it." 

"I  fear  we  could  hardly  accommodate  his  tutor  though. 
But  that  will  be  very  easily  arranged.  He  could  sleep  out  of 
the  house,  could  he  not?  " 

"Give  yourself  no  trouble  about  that.  I  wish  Harry  to 
have  masters  for  the  various  branches  he  will  study.  It  will 
teach  him  more  of  men  and  the  world  generally,  and  prevent 
his  being  too  much  influenced  by  one  style  of  thinking." 

"  But  Mr.  Sutherland  is  a  very  good  tutor." 

"  Yes.     Very." 

To  this  thei-e  could  be  no  reply  but  a  question ;  and  Mr. 
Arnold's  manner  not  inviting  one,  the  conversation  wa3 
dropped. 

Euphra  gradually  resumed  her  duties  in  the  house,  as  far 
as  great  lameness  would  permit.  She  continued  to  show  a 
quiet  and  dignified  reserve  towards  Hugh.  She  made  no  at- 
tempts to  fascinate  him,  and  never  avoided  his  look  when  it 
chanced  to  meet  hers.  But  although  there  was  no  reproach 
any  more  than  fascination  in  her  eyes,  Hugh's  always  fell  be- 
fore hers.  She  walked  softly  like  Ahab,  as  if,  now  that  Hugh 
knew,  she,  too,  was  ever  conscious. 

Her  behavior  to  Mrs.  Elton  and  Lady  Emily  was  likewise 
improved,  but  apparently  only  from  an  increase  of  indifference. 
When  the  time  came,  and  they  departed,  she  did  not  even  ap- 
pear to  be  much  relieved. 

Once  she  asked  Hugh  to  help  her  with  a  passage  of  Dante, 
but  betrayed  no  memory  of  the  past.  His  pleased  haste  to  as- 
sist her  showed  that  he  at  least,  if  fancy-free,  was  not  memory- 
clear.  She  thanked  him  very  gently  and  truly,  took  up  her 
book  like  a  school-girl,  and  limped  away.  Hugh  was  smitten 
to  the  heart.  "  If  I  could  but  do  something  for  her!" 
thought  he ;  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  Although  she 
had  deserved  it,  somehow  her  behavior  made  him  feel  as  if  he 
had  wronged  her  in  ceasing  to  love  her. 

One  day,  in  the  end  of  September,  Mr.  Arnold  and  Hugh 
were  alone  after  breakfast.     Mr.  Arnold  spoke  :  — 

"Mr.  Sutherland,  I  have  altered  my  plans  with  regard  to 
Harry.     I  wish  him  to  s^end  the  winter  in  London." 

Hugh  listened  and  waited.  Mr.  Arnold  went  on,  after  a 
Blight  pause :  — 


296  DAVID   ELQINBROD. 

"  There  I  wish  him  to  reap  such  advantages  as  are  to  be 
gained  in  the  metropolis.  He  has  improved  wonderfully  under 
your  instruction ;  and  is  now,  I  think,  to  be  benefited  princi- 
pally by  a  variety  of  teachers.  I  therefore  intend  that  he 
shall  have  masters  for  the  diiferent  branches  which  it  is  desir- 
able he  should  study.  Consequently  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
deny  him  your  services,  valuable  as  they  have  hitherto  been." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Arnold,''  said  Mr.  Sutherland,  with  the 
indifference  of  one  who  feels  himself  ill-used.  "  When  shall  I 
take  my  leave  of  him  ?  " 

"  Not  before  tlie  middle  of  the  next  month,  at  the  earliest. 
But  I  will  write  you  a  cheque  for  your  salary  at  once." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Arnold  left  the  room  for  a  moment,  and  re- 
turning, handed  Hugh  a  cheque  for  a  year's  salary.  Hugh 
glanced  at  it,  and  offering  it  again  to  Mr.  Arnold,  said  :  — 

"No,  Mr.  Arnold;  I  can  claim  scarcely  more  than  half  a 
year's  salary." 

"  Mr.  Sutherland,  your  engagement  was  at  so  much  a  year; 
and  if  I  prevent  you  from  fulfilling  your  part  of  it,  I  am  bound 
to  fulfil  mine.     Indeed,  you  might  claim  further  provision," 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Arnold." 

"Only  just,"  rejoined  Mr.  Arnold,  with  conscious  dignity, 
"lam  under  great  obligation  to  you  for  the  way  in  which  you 
have  devoted  yourself  to  Harry." 

Hugh's  conscience  gave  him  a  pang.  Is  anything  more 
painful  than  undeserved  praise  ? 

"  I  have  hardly  done  my  duty  by  him,"  said  he. 

"  I  can  only  say  that  the  boy  is  wonderfully  altered  for  the 
better,  and  I  thank  you.  I  am  obliged  to  you ;  oblige  me  by 
putting  the  cheque  in  your  pocket." 

Hugh  persisted  no  longer  in  his  refusal ;  and  indeed  it  had 
been  far  more  a  feeling  of  pride  than  of  justice  that  made  him 
decline  accepting  it  at  first.  Nor  was  there  any  generosity  in 
Mr.  Arnold's  cheque  ;  for  Hugh,  as  he  admitted,  might  have 
claimed  board  and  lodging  as  well.  But  Mr.  Arnold  was  one 
of  the  ordinarily  honorable,  who,  with  perfect  characters  for  up- 
rightness, always  contrive  to  err  on  the  safe  side  of  the  purse, 
and  the  doubtful  side  of  a  severely  interpreted  obligation. 
Such  people,  in  so  doing,  not  unfrequently  secure  for  them- 
selves, at  the  same  time,  the  reputation  of  generosity. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  297 

Hugh  could  not  doubt  that  his  dismissal  was  somehow  or 
other  connected  with  the  loss  of  the  ring;  but  he  would  not 
stoop  to  inquire  into  the  matter.  He  hoped  that  time  would 
set  all  right ;  and,  in  fact,  felt  considerable  indifference  to  the 
opinion  of  Mr.  Arnold,  or  of  any  one  in  the  house,  except 
Harry. 

The  boy  burst  into  tears  when  informed  of  his  father's  decis- 
ion with  regard  to  his  winter  studies,  and  could  only  be  con- 
soled by  the  hope  which  Hugh  held  out  to  him,  —  certainly 
upon  a  very  slight  foundation,  —  that  they  might  meet  some- 
times in  London.  For  the  little  time  that  remained,  Hugh 
devoted  himself  unceasingly  to  his  pupil ;  not  merely  studying 
with  him,  but  walking,  riding,  reading  stories,  and  going 
through  all  sorts  of  exercises  for  the  strengthening  of  his  per- 
son and  constitution.  The  best  results  followed  both  for 
Harry  and  his  tutor. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

EXPLANATIONS. 

I  hare  done  nothing  good  to  win  belief, 

My  life  hath  been  so  faithless;  all  the  creatures 

Made  for  heaven's  honors,  have  their  ends,  and  good  ones; 

All  but  ....  false  women  ....  When  they  die",  like  tales 

Ill-told,  and  unbelieved,  they  pass  away. 

I  will  redeem  one  minute  of  my  age, 
Or,  like  another  Niobe,  I'll  weep 
Till  I  am  water. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  —  The  Maid's  Tragedy. 

The  days  passed  quickly  by ;  and  the  last  evening  that 
Hugh  was  to  spend  at  Arnstead  arrived.  He  wandered  out 
alone.  He  had  been  with  Harry  all  day,  and  now  he  wished 
for  a  few  moments  of  solitude.  It  was  a  lovely  autumn  even- 
ing. He  went  into  the  woods  behind  the  house.  The  leaves 
were  still  thick  upon  the  trees,  but  most  of  them  had  changed 
to  gold,  and  brown,  and  red  ;  and  the  sweet  faint  odors  of 
those  that  had  fallen,  and  lay  thick  underfoot,  ascended  like  a 


298  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

voice  from  the  grave,  saying,  "Here  dwclleth  some  sad- 
Ticss,  but  no  despair."  As  lie  strolled  about  among  them-,  the 
■whole  history  of  his  past  life  arose  before  him.  This  often 
h{>pperis  before  any  change  in  our  history,  and  is  surest  to  take 
plice  at  the  approach  of  the  greatest  change  of  all,  when  v,e 
are  about  to  pass  into  the  unknown,  Avhence  we  came. 

In  this  mood,  it  was  natural  that  his  sins  should  rise  before 
him.  They  came  as  the  shadows  of  his  best  pleasures.  For 
now,  in  looking  back,  he  could  fix  on  no  period  of  his  history, 
around  which  the  aureole,  Avhich  glorifies  the  sacred  things  of 
the  past,  had  gathered  in  so  golden  a  hue,  as  around  the 
memory  of  the  holy  cottage,  the  temple  in  which  abode  David, 
and  Janet,  and  Margaret.  All  the  story  glided  past,  as  the 
necromantic  Will  called  up  the  sleeping  dead  in  the  mausoleum 
of  the  bruin.  And  that  solemn,  kingly,  gracious  old  man, 
who  had  been  to  him  a  father,  he  had  forgotten  ;  the  homely 
tenderness  which,  from  fear  of  its  own  force,  concealed  itself 
behind  a  humorous  roughness  of  manner,  he  had — no,  not 
despised,  but  —  forgotten,  too ;  and  if  the  dim  pearly  loveli- 
ness of  the  trustful,  grateful  maiden  had  not  been  quite  for- 
gotten, yet  she,  too,  had  been  neglected,  had  died,  as  it  were, 
and  been  buried  in  the  church-yard  of  the  past,  where  tlie 
grass  grows  long  over  the  graves,  and  the  moss  soon  begins  to 
fill  up  the  chiselled  records.  He  was  ungrateful.  lie  dared  not 
allow  to  himself  that  he  was  unloving  ;  but  he  must  confess 
himself  ungrateful. 

Musing  sorrowfully  and  self-reproachfully,  he  came  to  the 
Ghost's  Avenue.  Up  and  down  its  aisle  he  walked,  a  fit  place 
for  remembering  the  past  and  the  sins  of  the  present.  Yield- 
ing himself  to  what  thoughts  might  arise,  the  strange  sight  he 
bad  seen  here  on  that  moonlit  night,  of  two  silent  wandering 
figures,  —  or  could  it  be  that  they  were  .one  and  the  same, 
suddenly  changed  in  hue?  —  returned  upon  him.  This  vision 
had  been  so  speedily  followed  by  the  second  and  more  alarming 
apparition  of  Lady  Euphrasia,  that  he  had  hardly  had  time  to 
speculate  on  what  the  former  could  have  been.  He  was  medi- 
tating upon  all  these  strange  events,  and  remarking  to  himself 
that,  since  his  midnight  encounter  with  Lady  Euphrasia,  the 
house  had  been  as  quiet  as  a  church-yard  at  noon,  when  all 
suddenly,  he  saw  before  him,  at  some  little  distance,  a  dark 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  299 

figure  approaching  him.  His  heart  seemed  to  bound  into  his 
throat  and  choke  him^  as  he  said  to  himself,  "  It  is  the  nun 
again  !  "  But  the  next  moment  he  saw  that  it  was  Eupbra. 
I  do  not  know  which  he  would  have  preferred  not  meeting 
alone,  and  in  the  deepening  twilight;  Euphra,  too,  had  become 
like  a  ghost  to  him.  His  first  impulse  was  to  turn  aside  into 
the  wood,  but  she  had  seen  him,  and  was  evidently  going  to 
address  him.  He  therefore  advanced  to  meet  her.  She  spoke 
first,  approaching  him  with  painful  steps. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you,  Mr.  Sutherland.  I  wanted 
very  much  to  have  a  little  conversation  with  you  before  you 
go.     Will  you  allow  me  ?  " 

Hugh  felt  like  a  culprit  directly.  Euphra's  manner  was 
quite  collected  and  kind ;  yet  through  it  all  a  consciousness 
showed  itself  that  the  relation  which  had  once  existed  between 
them  had  passed  away  forever.  In  her  voice  there  was  some- 
thing like  the  tone  of  wind  blowing  through  a  ruin. 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy,"  said  he. 

She  smiled  sadly.     A  great  change  had  passed  upon  her. 

"lam  going  to  be  quite  open  with  you,"  she  said.  "I 
am  perfectly  aware,  as  well  as  you  are,  that  the  boyish  fancy 
you  had  for  me  is  gone.  Do  not  be  oiFended.  You  are  manly 
enough,  but  your  love  for  me  was  boyish.  Most  first  loves 
are  childish,  quite  irrespective  of  age.  I  do  not  blame  you  in 
the  least." 

This  seemed  to  Hugh  rather  a  strange  style  to  assume,  if  all 
was  true  that  his  own  eyes  had  reported.      She  went  on :  — 

"  Nor  must  you  think  it  has  cost  me  much  to  lose  it." 

Hugh  felt  hurt,  at  which  no  one  who  understands  will  be 
surprised. 

"  But  I  cannot  afibrd  to  lose  you^  the  only  friend  I  have," 
she  added. 

Hugh  turned  towards  her  with  a  face  full  of  manhood  and 
truth. 

"  You  shall  not  lose  me,  Euphra,  if  you  will  be  honest  to 
yourself  and  to  me." 

"  Thank  you.     I  can  trust  you.     I  will  be  honest." 

At  that  moment,  without  the  revival  of  a  trace  of  his  for- 
mer feelings,  Hugh  felt  nearer  to  her  than  he  had  ever  felt 


800  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

before.  Now  there  seemed  to  be  truth  between  them,  the  only 
medium  through  which  beings  can  unite. 

"  I  fear  I  have  wronged  you  much,"  she  went  on.  "I  do 
not  mean  some  time  ago."  Here  she  hesitated.  "I  fear  I 
am  the  cause  of  your  leaving  Arnstead." 

"  You,  Euphra  ?     No.     You  must  be  mistaken." 

"  I  think  not.  But  I  am  compelled  to  make  an  unwilling 
disclosure  of  a  secret,  —  a  sad  secret  about  myself  Do  not 
hate  me  quite —  I  am  a  somnambulist." 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  as  if  the  night  which  had 
now  closed  around  them  did  not  hide  her  enough.  Huo;h  did 
not  reply.  Absorbed  in  the  interest  which  both  herself  and 
her  confession  aroused  in  him,  lie  could  only  listen  eagerly. 
She  went  on,  after  a  moment's  pause  :  — 

"  I  did  not  think  at  first  that  I  had  taken  the  ring.  I 
thought  another  had.  But  last  night,  and  not  till  then,  I  dis- 
covered that  I  was  the  culprit." 

"How?" 

"  That  requires  explanation.  I  have  no  recollection  of  the 
events  of  the  previous  night  when  I  have  been  walking  in  my 
sleep.  Indeed,  the  utter  absence  of  a  sense  of  dreaming  always 
makes  me  suspect  that  I  have  been  wandering.  But  sometimes 
I  have  a  vivid  dream,  which  I  know,  though  I  can  give  no 
proof  of  it,  to  be  a  reproduction  of  some  previous  somnambulic 
experience.  Do  not  ask  me  to  recall  the  horrors  I  dreamed 
last  night.     I  am  sure  I  took  the  ring." 

"  Then  you  dreamed  what  you  did  with  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I  gave  it  to  —  " 

Here  her  voice  sank  and  ceased.  Hugh  would  not  urge 
her. 

"  Have  you  mentioned  this  to  Mr.  Arnold  ?  " 

"  No.  I  do  not  think  it  would  do  any  good.  But  I  will; 
if  you  wish  it,"  she  added,  submissively. 

"  Not  at  all.     Just  as  you  think  best." 

"  I  could  not  tell  him  everything.  I  cannot  tell  you  every- 
thing. If  I  did,  Mr.  Arnold  would  turn  me  out  of  the  house. 
I  am  a  very  unhappy  girl,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

From  the  tone  of  these  words,  Hugh  could  not  for  a  moment 
suppose  that  Euphra  had  any  remaining  design  of  fascination 
in  tliem. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  301 

"  Perhaps  he  might  want  to  keep  jou,  if  I  told  him  all ;  but 
I  do  not  think,  after  the  way  he  has  behaved  to  you,  that  you 
could  stay  with  ])im.  for  he  vrould  never  apologize.  It  is  very  sel- 
fish of  me  ;  but  indeed  I  have  not  the  courage  to  confess  to  him." 

"I  assure  you  nothing  could  make  me  remain  now.  But 
what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Only  let  me  depend  upon  you,  in  case  I  should  need  your 
help  ;  or  —  "  o 

Here  Euphra  stopped  suddenly,  and  caught  hold  of  Hugh's 
left  hand,  which  he  had  lifted  to  brush  an  insect  from  his  face. 

"  Where  is  your  ring?  ''  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  suppressed 
anxiety. 

"Gone,  Euphra.  My  father's  ring!  It  was  lying  beside 
Lady  Euphrasia's." 

Euphra's  face  was  again  hidden  in  her  hands.  She  sobbed 
and  moaned  like  one  in  despair.  ^Vhen  she  grew  a  little  calmer, 
she  said  :  — 

"  I  am  sure  I  did  not  take  your  ring,  dear  Hugh,  —  I  am  not 
a  thief.  I  had  a  kind  of  right  to  the  other,  and  he  said  it 
ought  to  have  been  his,  for  his  real  name  was  Count  von  Hal- 
kar,  —  the  same  name  as  Lady  Euphrasia's  before  she  was 
married.     He  took  it,  I  am  sure." 

"  It  was  he  that  knocked  me  down  in  the  dark  that  night, 
then,  Euphra." 

"  Did  he  ?  Oh  !  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  all.  That  wretch 
has  a  terrible  power  over  me.  I  loved  him  once.  But  I  re- 
fused to  take  the  ring  from  your  desk,  because  I  knew  it  would 
get  you  into  trouble.  He  threw  me  into  a  somnambulic  sleep, 
and  sent  me  for  the  ring.  But  I  should  have  remembered  if 
I  had  taken  yours.  Even  in  my  sleep,  I  dont  think  he  could 
have  made  me  do  that.  You  may  know  I  speak  the  truth, 
when  I  am  telling  my  own  disgrace.  He  promised  to  set  me 
free  if  I  would  get  the  ring ;  but  he  has  not  done  it,  and  he 
will  not." 

Sobs  again  interrupted  her. 

"I  was  afraid  your  ring  was  gone.  I  don't  know  why  I 
thought  so,  except  that  you  hadn"  t  it  on  when  you  came  to  see 
me.  Or  perhaps  it  was  because  I  am  sometimes  forced  to 
think  what  that  wretch  is  thinkino;.  He  made  me  go  to  him 
that  night  you  saw  me,  Hugh.     But  I  was  so  ill,  I  don't  tfcink 


302  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

I  should  have  been  able,  but  that  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had 
asked  him  about  your  ring.  He  said  he  knew  nothing  about 
it." 

"  I  am  sure  he  has  it,"  said  Hugh.  And  he  related  to 
Euphra  the  struggle  he  had  had  with  Funkelstein  and  its  re- 
sult.     She  shuddered. 

"  I  have  been  a  devil  to  you,  Hugh  ;  I  have  betrayed  you 
to  hhi^  You  will  never  see  your  ring  again.  Here,  take 
mine.  It  is  not  so  good  as  yours,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  old 
way  you  thought  of  me,  take  it." 

"No,  no,  Euphra;  Mr.  Arnold  would  miss  it.  Besides, 
you  know  it  would  not  be  my  father's  ring,  and  it  was  not  for 
the  value  of  the  diamond  I  cared  most  about  it.  And  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  shall  not  find  it  again.  I  am  going  up  to  Lon- 
don, where  I  shall  foil  in  with  him,  I  hope." 

"  But  do  take  care  of  yourself.  He  has  no  conscience.  God 
knows  I  have  had  little,  but  he  has  none." 

"  I  know  he  has  none;  but  a  conscience  is  not  a  bad  auxil- 
iary, and  there  I  shall  have  some  advantage  of  him.  But  what 
could  he  want  that  ring  of  Lady  Euphrasia's  for  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     He  never  told  me." 

"  It  was  not  worth  much." 

"  Next  to  nothing." 

' '  I  shall  be  surer  to  find  that  than  my  own.  And  I  will 
find  it,  if  I  can,  that  Mr  Arnold  may  believe  I  was  not  to 
blame." 

"  Do.     But  be  careful." 

"  Don't  fear.     I  will  be  careful." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  as  if  to  take  leave  of  him,  but  with-- 
drew  it  again  with  the  sudden  cry :  — 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  thought  he  had  left  me  to  myself, 
till  that  night  in  the  library." 

She  held  down  her  head  in  silence.  Then  she  said,  slowly, 
in  a  tone  of  agony  :  — 

"I  am  a  slave,  body  and  soul.  Hugh  !  "  she  added,  pas- 
sionately, and  looking  up  in  his  face,  "do  you  think  there  is 
a  God?" 

Her  eyes  glimmered  with  the  faint  reflex  from  gatliered 
tears  that  silently  overflowed. 

And  now  Hugh's  own  poverty  struck  him  with  grief  and 


DAVID    ELaiNBROD.  303 

humiliation.  Here  was  a  soul  seeking  God,  and  he  had  no 
right  to  say  that  there  was  a  God,  for  he  knew  nothing  about 
him.  He  had  been  told  so;  but  what  could  that  far-off  wit- 
ness do  for  the  need  of  a  desolate  heart  ?  She  had  been  told 
so  a  million  of  times.  He  could  not  say  that  he  knew  it.  That 
was  what  she  wanted  and  needed. 

He  was  honest,  and  so  replied :  — 

"  I  do  not  know.     I  hope  so." 

He  felt  that  she  was  already  beyond  him  ;  for  she  had  begun 
to  cry  into  the  vague,  seemingly  heartless  void,  and  say  :  — 

"  Is  there  a  God  somewhere  to  hear  me  when  I  cry  ?  " 

And  with  all  the  teaching  he  had  had,  he  had  no  word  of 
comfort  to  give.  Yes,  he  had ;  he  had  known  David  El- 
ginbrod. 

Before  he  had  shaped  his  thought,  she  said :  — 

"  I  think,  if  there  were  a  God,  he  would  help  me  ;  for  I  am 
nothing  but  a  poor  slave  now.     I  have  hardly  a  will  of  my  own.',' 

The  sigh  she  heaved  told  of  a  hopeless  oppression. 

"  The  best  man,  and  the  wisest,  and  the  noblest  I  ever 
knew,"  said  Hugh,  '•  believed  in  God  with  his  whole  heart 
and  soul  and  strength  and  mind.  In  fact,  he  cared  for  noth- 
ing but  "God;  or  rather,  he  cared  for  everything,  because  it  be- 
longed to  God.  He  was  never  afraid  of  anything,  never  vexed 
at  anything,  never  troubled  about  anything.  He  loas  a  good 
man." 

Hugh  was  surprised  at  the  light  which  broke  upon  the  char- 
acter of  David,  as  he  held  it  before  his  mind's  eye,  in  order  to 
describe  it  to  Euphra.  He  seemed  never  to  have  understood 
him  before. 

"Ah  !  I  wish  I  knew  him.  I  would  go  to  that  man,  and 
ask  him  to  save  me.      Where  does  he  live?  " 

"  Alas  !  I  do  not  know  whether  he  is  alive  or  dead,  — the 
more  to  my  shame.  But  he  lives,  if  he  lives,  far  away  in  the 
north  of  Scotland." 

She  paused. 

"  No.     I  could  not  go  there.     I  will  write  to  him." 

Hugh  could  not  discourage  her,  though  he  doubted  whether 
a  real  communication  could  be  established  between  them. 

"  I  will  write  down  his  address  for  you,  when  I  go  in,"  said 
he.     "  But  what  can  he  save  you  from  ?  " 


304  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

« 

"  From  no  God,"  she' answered,  solemnly.  "  If  there  is  no 
God,  then  I  am  sure  that  there  is  a  devil,  and  that  he  has  got 
me  in  his  power." 

Hugh  felt  her  shudder,  for  she  was  leaning  on  his  arm,  she 
was  still  so  lame.     She  continued  :  — 

"  Oh  !  if  I  had  a  God,  he  would  right  me,  I  know." 

Hugh  could  not  reply.     A  pause  followed. 

"  Good-by.  I  feel  pretty  sure  we  shall  meet  again.  My 
presentiments  are  generally  true,"  said  Euphra,  at  length. 

Hugh  kissed  her  hand  with  far  more  real  devotion  than  he 
had  ever  kissed  it  with  before. 

She  left  him,  and  hastened  to  the  house  "  with  feeble  speed." 
He  was  sorry  she  was  gone.  He  walked  up  and  down  for 
some  time,  meditating  on  the  strange  girl  and  her  strange 
words ;  till,  hearing  the  dinner-bell,  he,  too,  must  hasten  in  to 
dress. 

Euphra  met  him  at  the  dinner-table  without  any  change  of 
her  late  manner.  Mr.  Arnold  wished  him  good-night  more 
kindly  than  usual.  When  he  went  up  to  his  room,  he  found 
that  Harry  had  already  cried  himself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

DEPARTURE. 

I  fancy  deemed  fit  guide  to  lead  ray  way, 

And  as  I  deemed  I  did  pursue  her  track  ; 
Wit  lost  his  aim,  and  will  was  fancy's  prey; 
The  rebel  won,  the  ruler  went  to  wrack. 
But  now  sith  fancy  did  with  folly  end, 
Wit^  bought  with  loss —  will,  taught  by  wit,  will  mend. 

Southwell.  —  David's  Peccavi, 

After  dinner,  Hugh  wandered  over  the  well-known  places, 
to  bid  them  good-by.  Then  he  went  up  to  his  room,  and,  with 
the  vanity  of  a  young  author,  took  his  poems  out  of  the  fatal 
old  desk  ;  Avrote,  •'  Take  them,  please,  such  as  they  are.  Let 
me  be  your  friend;"   enclosed  them  with  the  writing,  and 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  305 

addressed  them  to  Euphra.  By  the  time  he  saw  them  again, 
they  were  so  much  waste-paper  in  his  eyes. 
But  what  Avere  his  plans  for  the  future  ? 
First  of  all  he  would  go  to^  London.  There  he  Avould  do 
many  things.  lie  would  try  to  find  Funkelstein.  lie  would 
write.  He  would  make  acquaintance  Avitli  London  life ;  for  had 
he  not  plenty  of  money  in  his  pocket  ?  And  who  could  live 
more  thriftily  than  he  ?  During  his  last  session  at  Aberdeen 
he  had  given  some  private  lessons,  and  so  contrived  to  eke  out 
his  small  means.  These  Avere  Avretchodly  paid  for,  namely, 
not  quite  at  the  rate  of  sevenpence-halfpenny  a  lesson  ;  but  still 
that  Avas  something,  Avhere  more  could  not  be  had.  Noav  he 
would  try  to  do  the  same  in  London,  where  he  Avould  be  much 
better  paid.  Or  perhaps  he  might  get  a  situation  in  a  school 
for  a  short  time,  if  he  Avere  driven  to  ultimate  necessity.  At 
all  events,  he  Avould  see  London,  and  look  about  him  for  a 
little  Avhile,  before  he  settled  to  anything  definite. 

With  this  hopeful  prospect  before  him,  he  next  morning  bade 
adieu  to  Arnstead.  I  Avill  not  describe  the  parting  Avith  poor 
Harry.  The  boy  seemed  ready  to  break  his  heart,  and  Hugh 
himself  had  enough  ado  to  refrain  from  tears.  One  of  the 
grooms  droA^e  him  to  the  railway  in  the  dog-cart.  As  they 
came  near  the  station,  Hugh  gave  him  half  a  crown.  EnliA'ened 
by  the  gift,  the  man  began  to  talk. 

"  He's  a  rum  customer,  that  ere  gemman  with  the  foi'ing 
name.  The  color  of  his  puss  I  couldn't  swear  to  noAV.  Never 
saw  sixpence  o'  his'n.  My  opinion  is,  master  had  better  look 
arter  his  spoons.  And  for  missus  —  well,  it's  a  pity  !  He's 
a  rum  un,  as  I  say,  anyhow."' 

The  man  here  nodded  several  times,  half  compassionately, 
half  importantly. 

Hugh  did  not  choose  to  inquire  Avhat  he  meant.  They 
reached  the  station,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  Avas  shootins: 
along  tOAvards  London,  that  social  vortex,  which  draws  every- 
thing towards  its  central  tumult. 

But  there  is  a  central  repose  beyond   the  motions  of  the 

worlds ;    and    through    the    turmoil    of    London,    Hugh    was 

journeying  tOAvards  that  Avide  stillness, —  that  silence  of  the 

soul,  which  is  not  desolate,  but  rich  with  unutterable  harmonies. 
20  .  . 


306  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER  XLVIIL 

LODdPlNGS. 

c 
Heigh  ho  !  sing  heigh  ho  !  unto  the  green  holly  : 
Most  frieadship  is  feigning,  mnst  loving  mere  folly  : 
Then,  heigh  ho  !  the  holly  ! 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

Sana  in  As  iTou  Lihe  It. 

[ 

\  Hugh  felt  rather  drearj  as,  through  Bermondsej,  he  drew 
high  to  the  London  Bridge  Station.  Fog,  and  drizzle,  and 
smoke,  and  stench  composed  the  atmosphere*.  He  got  out  in  a 
drift  of  human  atoms.  Leavin";  liis  ]u2;":ag;e  at  the  office,  he 
set  out  on  foot  to  explore, —  in  fact,  to  go  and  look  for  his 
future,  which,  even  Avlien  he  met  it,  he  would  not  be  able  to 
recognize  witli  any  certainty.  The  first  form  in  which  he  was 
interested  to  find  it  embodied  was  that  of  lodgings ;  but  where 
even  to  look,  he  did  not  know.  He  had  been  in  London  for  a 
few  days  in  the  spring,  on  his  way  to  Arnstcad,  so  he  was  not 
utterly  ignorant  of  the  anatomy  of  the  monster  city ;  but  his 
little  knowledge  could  not  be  of  much  service  to  him  now. 
And  how  different  it  was  from  the  London  of  spring,  Avhich  had 
lingered  in  his  memoiXi^d  imagination ;  when,  transformed 
by  the  "heavenly  alcheimy"'  of  the  piercing  sunbeams  that 
slanted  across  the  streets  from  chimney-tops  to  opposite  base- 
ments, the  dust  and  smoke  showed  great  inclined  pianes  of 
light,  up  whose  steep  slopes  one  longed  to  climb  to  the  fountain 
glory  whence  they  flowed  !  Now  the  streets,  from  garret  to 
cellar,  seemed  like  huge  kennels  of  muddy,  moist,  filthy  air, 
down  through  which  settled  the  heavier  particles  of  smoke  and 
rain  upon  the  miserable  human  beings  who  crawled  below  in 
the  deposit,  like  shrimps  in  the-  tide,  or  whitebait  at  the  bottom 
of  the  muddy  Thames.  He  had  to  wade  through  deep  thin  mud 
even  on  the  pavements.  Everybody  looked  depressed,  and 
hurried  by  with  a  cowed  look ;  as  if  conscious  that  the  rain  and 
general  misery  v/ere  a  plague  drawn  down  on  the  city  by  his 
own  individual  crime.  Nobody  seemed  to  care  for  anybody  or 
anything.  "  Good  heavens  ! ''  thought  Hugh  ;  "  what  a  place 
%  this  must  be  for  one  without  money  !  ''     It  looked- like  a  chaos 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  307 

of  liUQian  monads  And  yet,  in  reality,  the  whole  mass  was 
so  bojnd  together,  interwoven,  and  matted,  by  the  crossing  and 
intertwisting  threads  of  interest,  mutual  help,  and  relationship 
of  every  kind,  that  Hugh  soon  found  how  hard  it  was  to  get 
within  the  mass  at  all,  so  as  to  be  in  any  degree  partaker  of 
the  benefits  it  shared  within  itself. 

He  did  not  wish  to  get  lodgings  in  the  outskirts,  for  he 
thought  that  would  remove  him  from  every  centre  of  action  or 
employment.  But  he  saw  no  lodgings  anywhere.  Growing 
tired  and  hungry,  he  went  at  length  into  an  eating-house, 
which  he  thought  looked  cheap ;  and  proceeded  to  dine  upon  a 
cinder,  which  had  been  a  steak.  He  tried  to  delude  himself 
into  the  idea  that  it  was  a  steak  still,  by  withdrawing  his 
attention  from  it,  and  fixing  it  upon  a  newspaper  two  days  old. 
Finding  nothing  of  interest,  he  dallied  with  the  advertisements 
He  soon  came  upon  a  column  from  which  single  gentlemen 
appeared  to  be  in  request  as  lodgers.  Looking  over  these  ad- 
vertisements, Avhich  had  more  interest  for  him  at  the  moment 
than  all  home  and  foreign  news,  battles  and  murders  included, 
he  drew  a  map  from  his  pocket,  and  began  to  try  to  find  out 
some  of  the  localities  indicated.  Most  of  them  were  in  or 
towards  the  suburbs.  At  last  he  spied  one  in  a  certain  square, 
which,  after  long  and  diligent  search,  and  with  the  assistance 
of  the  girl  who  waited  on  him,  he  found  on  his  map.  It  was 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Holborn,  and,  from  the  place  it  occupied 
in  the  map,  seemed  central  enough  for  his  vague  purposes. 
Above  all,  the  terms  were  said  to  be  moderate..  But  no  de- 
scription of  the  character  of  the  lodgings  was  given,  else  Hugh 
would  not  have  ventured  to  look  at  them.  What  he  wanted 
was  something  of  the  same  sort  as  he  had  had  in  Aberdeen.  — ■ 
a  single  room,  or  a  room  and  bedroom,  for  which  he  should 
have  to  ])ajj  only  a  few  shillings  a  week. 

Refreshed  by  his  dinner,  wretched  as  it  was,  he  set  out 
again.  To  his  great  joy,  the  rain  was  over,  and  an  afternoon 
sun  was  trying,  with  some  slight  measure  of  success,  to  pierce 
the  clouds  of  the  London  atmosphere  ;  it  had  already  succeeded 
Avith  the  clouds  of  the  terrene.  He  soon  found  his  way  into 
Holborn,  and  thence  into  the  square  in  question.  It  looked  to 
him  very  attractive  ;  for  it  was  quietness  itself,  and  had  no 
thoroughfare  except  across  one  of  its  corners.     True,   it  was 


808  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

invaded  by  the  universal  roar, —  for  ■what  place  in  London  is 
not?  —  but  it  contributed  little  or  nothing  of  its  own  manu- 
facture to  the  general  production  of  sound  in  the  metropolis. 
The  centre  was  occupied  by  grass  and  trees,  enclosed  within  an 
iron  railing.  All  the  leaves  were  withered,  and  many  had 
dropped  already  on  the  pavement  below.  In  the  middle  stood 
the  statue  of  a  queen,  of  days  gone  by.  The  tide  of  fashion 
had  rolled  away  far  to  the  west,  and  yielded  a  free  passage  to 
the  inroads  of  commerce,  and  of  the  general  struggle  for  igno- 
ble existence,  upon  this  once  flxvored  island  in  its  fluctuating 
waters.  Old  windows,  flush  with  the  external  walls,  whence 
had  glanced  fair  eyes  to  which  fashion  was  even  dearer  than 
beauty,  now  displayed  "Lodgings  to  Let"  between  knitted 
curtains,  from  which  all  idea  of  drapery  had  been  expelled  by 
severe  starching.  Amongst  these  he  soon  found  the  house  he 
sought,  and  shrunk  from  its  important  size  and  brigh-t  equip- 
ments :  but,  summoning  courage,  thought  it  better  to  ring  the 
bell.  A  withered  old  lady,  in  just  the  same  stage  of  decay  as 
the  square,  and  adorned  after  the  same  fashion  as  the  house, 
came  to  the  door,  cast  a  doubtful  look  at  Hugh,  and,  when  he 
had  stated  his  object,  asked  him,  in  a  hard,  keen,  unmodulated 
voice,  to  walk  in.  He  followed  her,  and  found  himself  in  a 
dining-room,  Avhich  to  him,  judging  by  his  purse,  and  not  by 
what  he  had  been  used  to  of  late,  seemed  sumptuous.  He  said 
at  once :  — 

"It  is  needless  for  me  to  trouble  you  further.  I  see  your 
rooms  will  not  suit  me." 

The  old  lady  looked  annoyed. 

"Will  you  see  the  drawing-room  apartments  then?"  she 
said,  crustily. 

"  No,  thank  you.  It  would  be  giving  you  quite  unnecessary 
trouble." 

"  My  apartments  have  always  given  satisfaction,  I  assure 
you,  sir." 

"Indeed,  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  it.  I  wish  I  could 
afford  to  take  them,"  said  Hugh,  thinking  it  better  to  be  open 
than  to  hurt  her  feelings.  "  I  am  sure  I  should  be  very  com- 
fortable.    But  a  poor  —  " 

He  did  not  know  what  to  call  himself. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  SOS 

"  0-oh !  "  said  the  landlady.  Then,  after  a  pause,  "Well  ?  " 
interrogativelj. 

"  Well,  I  was  a  tutor  last,  but  I  don't  know  what  I  may  be 
next." 

She  kept  looking  at  him.  Once  or  twice  she  looked  at  him 
from  head  to  foot. 

' '  You  are  respectable  ?  ' ' 

"  I  hope  so,"   said  Hugh,  laughing. 

"Well  !  "  — this  time  not  interrogatively. 

"  How  many  rooms  would  you  like?  " 

"The  fewer  the  better.  Half  a  one,  if  there  were  nobody 
in  the  other  half" 

"Well! — And  you  wouldn't  give  much  trouble,  I  dare 
say." 

"  Only  for  coals,  and  water  to  wash  and  drink." 
.    "  And  you  wouldn't  dine  at  home?  " 

"No  —  nor  anywhere  else,"  said  Hugh;  but  the  second 
and  larger  clause  was  sotio  voce. 

"  And  you  wouldn't  smoke  in-doors?  " 

"No." 

"And  you  would  wipe  your  boots  clean  before  you  went  up- 
stairs? " 

"Yes,  cei'tainly."  Hugh  was  beginning  to  be  exceedingly 
amused,  but  he  kept  his  gravity  wonderfully. 

"  Have  you  any  money  ?  " 

"Yes;  plenty  for  the  meantime.  But  when  I  shall  get 
more,  I  don't  know,  you  see." 

"  Well,  I've  a  room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  which  I'll  make 
comfortable  for  you  ;  and  you  may  stay  as  long  as  you  like  to 
behave  yourself" 

"  But  what  is  the  rent?  " 

"  Four  shillings  a  week  —  to  you.  Would  you  like  to 
Bee  it?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  please." 

She  conducted  him  up  to  the  third  floor,  and  showed  him  a 
good-sized  room,  rather  bare,  but  clean. 

"  This  will  do  delightfully,"    said  Hugh. 

"  I  will  make  it  a  little  more  comfortable  for  you,  you 
know." 


310  DAVID    ELGINBRCD. 

"  Thank  you  very  mucli.  Shall  I  pay  i  month  in  ad- 
vance? " 

"  No,  'iio,  '  she  answered,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  I  might 
Avant  to  get  lid  of  you,  you  know.  It  must  be  a  week's  warn- 
ing, no  more." 

"  Very  well.  I  have  no  ohjcction.  I  wnll  go  and  ftitch  ray 
luirgage.     I  suppose  I  may  come  in  at  once  ?  " 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  young  man,  in  a  place  like  London. 
The  sooner  you  come  home  the  better  pleased  I  shall  be.  Tliere 
now  !  " 

So  saying,  she  walked  solemnly  downstairs  before  him,  and 
let  him  out.  Hugh  hurried  away  to  fetch  his  luggage,  de- 
lighted that  he  had  so  soon  succeeded  in  finding  just  what  he 
wanted.  As  he  went,  he  speculated  on  the  nature  of  his  land- 
lady, trying  to  account  for  her  odd,  rough  manner,  and  the  real 
kindness  of  her  rude  words.  He  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  was  naturally  kind  to  profusion,  and  that  this  kindness 
had,  some  time  or  other,  perhaps  repeatedly,  been  taken  shame- 
ful advantage  of;  that  at  last  she  had  come  to  the  resolution 
to  defend  herself  by  means  of  a  general  misanthropy,  and  sup- 
posed that  she  had  succeeded,  when  she  had  got  no  further 
than  to  have  so  often  imitated  the  tone  of  her  own  behavior 
when  at  its  crossest  as  to  have  made  it  habitual  by  repeti- 
tion. 

In  all  probability  some  unknown  sympathy  had  drawn  her 
to  Hu^h.  She  mio;ht  have  had  a  son  about  his  age,  who  had 
run  away  thirty  years  ago.  Or  rather,  for  she  seemed  an 
old  maid,  she  had  been  jilted  some  time  by  a  youth  about  the 
same  size  as  Hu";h  ;  and  therefore  she  loved  him  the  moment 
she  saw  him.  Or,  in  short,  a  thousand  things.  Certainly 
seldom  had  lodgings  been  let  so  oddly  or  so  cheaply.  But 
some  impulse  or  other  of  the  whimsical  old  human  heart,  which 
■will  have  its  way,  was  satisfied  therein. 

When  he  returned  in  a  couple  of  hours,  with  his  boxes  on 
the  top  of  a  cab,  tlie  door  was  opened,  before  he  knocked,  by  a 
tidy  maid,  who,  without  being  the  least  like  her  mistress,  yet 
resembled  her  excessively.  She  helped  him  to  carry  his  boxes 
upstairs ;  and  when  he  reached  his  room,  he  found  a  fire  burn- 
ing cheerily,  a  muflBn  down  before  it,  a  teakettle  singing  on 
the  hob,  and  the  tea-tray  set  upon  a  nice  white  cloth  on  a  table 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  811 

right  in  front  of  the  fire,  with  an  old-fashioned  high-backed 
easj-chair  bj  its  side,  —  the  very  chair  to  go  to  sleep  in  over  a 
novel.  The  old  lady  soon  made  her  appearance,  with  the  tea- 
pot in  one  hand,  and  a  plate  of  butter  in  the  other. 

"  Oh  !  thank  jou,"  said  Hugh.      "  This  is  comfortable  !  " 

She  answered  only  by  compressing  her  lips  till  her  mouth 
vanished  altogether,  and  nodding  her  head  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  I  know  it  is.  I  intended  it  should  be."  She  then  poured 
water  into  the  teapot,  set  it  down  by  the  fire,  and  vanished. 

Hugh  sat  down  in  the  easy-cliair,  and  resolved  to  be  com- 
fortable, at  least  till  he  had  had  his  tea ;  after  which  he  would 
think  what  he  was  to  do  next.  A  knock  at  the  door  —  and 
his  landlady  entered,  laid  a  penny  newspaper  on  the  table,  and 
went  away.  This  was  just  what  he  wanted  to  complete  his  com- 
fort. He  took  it  up,  and  read  while  he  consumed  his  bread 
and  butter.  When  he  had  had  enough  of  tea  and  ncAvspaper, 
he  said  to  himself :  — 

"  Now,  what  am  I  to  do  next  ?  " 

It  is  a  happy  thing  for  us  that  this  is  really  all  we  have  to 
concern  ourselves  about,  —  what  to  do  next.  No  man  c.a)i  do 
the  second  thing.  He  can  do  the  first.  If  he  omits  it,  the 
wheels  of  the  social  Juojo-ernaut  roll  over  him,  and  leave  him 
more  or  less  crushed  behind.  If  he  does  it,  he  keeps  in  front, 
and  finds  room  to  do  the  next  again  ;  and  so  l^,e  is  sure  to  arrive 
at  something,  for  the  onward  march  will  Carry  him  with  it.  There 
is  no  saying  to  what  perfection  of  success  a  man  may  come, 
Avho  begins  Avith  what  he  can  do,  and  uses  the  means  at  his 
hand.  He  makes  a  vortex  of  action,  however  slight,  towards 
which  all  the  means  instantly  begin  to  gravitate.  Let  a  man  but 
lay  hold  of  something,  —  anything,  — and  he  is  in  the  higli  rond 
to  success,  though  it  maybe  very  long  before  he  can  walk  com- 
fortably in  it.  It  is  true  the  success  -may  be  measured  out 
according  to  a  standard  very  different  from  his. 

But  in  Hugh's  case,  the  difficulty  was  to  grasp  anything,  — 
to  make  a  beginning  anywhere.  He  knew  nobody  ;  and  the 
globe  of  society  seemed  like  a  mass  of  adamant,  on  which  he 
could  not  gain  the  slightest  hold,  or  make  the  slightest  im- 
pression. Who  would  introduce  him  to  pupils  ?  Nobody.  He 
had  the  testimonials  of  his  professors ;  but  who  would  ask  to 
see  them?     His  eye  fell  on  the  paper.     He  would  advertise. 


?-2  DAVID   ELQINBROD. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

LETTERS   FOR   TEE    POST, 

Nothing  but  drought  and  dearth,  but  bush  and  brake, 

Which  way  soo'cr  I  look,  I  see. 
Some  may  dream  merrily,  but  when  they  wake. 
They  dress  themselves,  and  come  to  thee. 

George  Herbert.  —  Home. 

He  got  his  writing  matericals,  and  wrote  to  the  effect,  that  a 
graduate  of  a  Scotch  university  was  prepared  to  give  private 
lessons  in  the  classics  and  mathematics,  or  even  in  any  of  the 
inferior  branches  of  education,  etc.,  etc.  This  he  would  take 
to  the  "  Times,"  next  day. 

As  soon  as  he  had  done  this.  Duty  lifted  up  her  head,  and 
called  him.  He  obeyed,  and  wrote  to  his  mother.  Duty 
called  again  ;  and  he  wrote,  with  much  trepidation  and  humilia- 
tion, to  David  Elginbrod. 

It  was  a  good  beginning.  He  had  commenced  his  London 
life  in  doing  what  he  knew  he  ought  to  do.  His  trepidation 
in  writing  to  David  arose  in  part,  it  must  be  confessed,  from 
the  strange  result  of  one  of  the  experiments  at  Arnstead. 

This  was  his  letter ;  but  he  sat  and  meditated  a  long  time 
before  he  began  it :  — 

"My  dear  Frieind:  —  If  I  did  not  think  you  would  forgive  me,  I 
should  feel,  now  tiiat  I  have  once  allowed  my  mind  to  rest  upon  my  con- 
duct to  you,  as  if  I  could  never  hold  up  my  head  again.  After  much 
occupation  of  thought  and  feeling  with  other  things,  a  season  of 
silence  has  come,  and  my  sins  look  me  in  the  fnce.  First  of  tliem  all  is 
my  neglect  of  you,  to  whom  I  owe  more  than  to  any  man  else,  except, 
perhaps,  mj'  father.  Forgive  me,  for  forgiveness'  sake.  You  know  it  takes 
a  long  time  for  a  child  to  know  its  mother.  It  takes  everything  as  a 
matter  of  course,  till  suddenly  one  day  it  lifts  up  its  eyes,  and  knows 
that  a  fae,e  is  looking  at  it.  I  have  been  like  the  child  towards  you; 
but  I  am  begimiing  to  feel  what  j'ou  have  been  to  me.  I  want  to  be 
good.  I  am  very  lonely  now  in  great,  noisy  London.  Write  to  me, 
if  you  please*  and  comfort  me.  I  wish  I  were  as  good  as  you.  Then 
everything  would  go  right  with  me.  Do  not  suppose  that  I  am  in  great 
troul)le  of  any  kind.  As  yet  I  am  very  comfortable,  as  far  as  external 
circumstances  go.  But  I  have  a  kind  of  aching  inside  me.  Something 
is  not  right,  and  I  want  your  help.  You  will  know  what  I  mean. 
What  am  I  to  do?  Please  to  remember  me  in  the  kindest,  most  grate- 
ful manner  to  Mrs.  Elginbrod  and  Margaret.     It  is  more  than  I  de- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  813 


lerve ;  but  I  hope  they  have  not  forgotten  me  as  I  have  seemed  to  for- 
get them. 

"  I  am,  mj'  dear  Mr.  Elginbrod, 

"Your  old  friend, 

'•  Hugh  Sutherlaxd." 

I  may  as  well  insert  here  another  letter,  which  arrived  at 
TurriepufRt,  likewise  addressed  to  David,  some  six  weeks  after 
the  foregoing.     They  were  both  taken  to  Janet,  of  course  :  — 

"Siii:  —  I  have  heard  from  one  who  knows  you,  that  you  believe, 
really  believe,  in  God.  That  is  why  I  v»'rite  to  you.  It  may  seem  very 
strange  in  me  to  do  so,  but  how  can  I  help  it  ?  I  am  a  very  unhappy 
"  "Iti^^'ijf—  ^  ^™  "^  ^^^^  power  of  a  bad  mau.  I  cannot  explain  it  all  to 
yoii^^iUai^'ill  not  attempt  it;  for  sometimes  I  almost  think  I  am  out 
of  my  mincf.  and  that  it  is  all  a  delusion.  But,  alas!  delusion  or  not, 
it  is  a  dreadful  reality  to  me  in  all  its  consequences.  It  is  of  such  a 
nature  that  no  one  can  help  me  —  but  G(a1,  if  there  be  a  God;  and  if 
you  can  make  me  believe  that  there  is  a  God,  I  shall  not  need  to  be 
persuaded  that  he  will  help  me;  for  I  will  besiege  him  with  prayers  , 
night  and  day  to  set  me  free.  And  even  if  I  am  out  of  my  mind,  who 
can  help  me  but  him?  Ah!  is  it  not  when  we  are  driven  to  despair, 
^hen  there  is  no  more  help  anywhere,  that  we  look  around  for  some 
power  of  good  that  can  put  right  all  that  is  wrong?  Tell  me,  dear  sir, 
what  to  do.  Tell  me  that  there  certainly  is  a  God ;  else  I  shall  die 
raving.  He  said  j-ou  knew  about  him  better  than  anybody  else. 
"  I  am,  honored  sir, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  Euphrasia  Cameuox. 

"Arxstead,. Surrey,  etc.,  etc." 

David's  answer  to  this  letter  would  have  been  something 
worth  having.  But  I  think  it  would  have  been  all  summed 
up  in  one  word  :     Try  and  see  ;   call  and  listen. 

But  what  could  Janet  do  with  such  letters  ?  She  did  the 
only  thing  she  could,  —  she  sent  them  to  Margaret. 

Hugh  found  it  no  great  hardship  to  go  to  bed  in  the  same 
room  in  which  he  sat.  The  bed  looked  peculiarly  inviting ; 
for.  strange  to  tell,  it  was  actually  hung  with  the  same  pattern 
of  old-fashioned  chintz  as  the  bed  which  had  been  his  from 
his  earliest  rccollectiou,  till  he  left  his  father's  house.  How 
could  he  mistake  the  trees,  growing  with  tufts  to  the  ground, 
or  the  great  birds  Avhich  he  used  to  think  were  crows,  notwith- 
standing their  red  and  yellow  plumage  ?  It  was  all  over  red, 
brown,  and  yellow.  He  could  remember  and  reconstruct  the 
very  faces,  distorted  and  awful,  which,  in  the  delirium  of 
childish  sicknesses,  he  used  to  discover  in  the  foliao;e  and  stems 


814  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

of  the  trees.  It  made  the  wliole  place  seem  to  him  homeljand 
kind.  When  he  got  tired,  he  knelt  hy  his  bedside,  wliich  he 
had  not  done  for  a  long  time,  and  then  went  to  bed.  Hard- 
ship !  No.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  see  tlie  <lying  fire,  and  his 
books  about  and  his  papers  ;  and  to  dream,  half  asleep  and  half 
awake,  that  the  house-fairies  were  stealing  out  to  gambc^l  for  a, 
little  in  the  fire-lighted  silence  of  the  room  as  he  slept,  and  to 
vanish  as  the  embers  turned  black.  lie  had  not  been  so  happy 
for  a  long  time  as  now.  The  writing  of  that  letter  had  removed 
a  load  from  his  heart.  True  Ave  can  never  be  at  peace  till 
we  have  performed  the  highest  duty  of  all,  —  till  we  have  arisen, 
and  gone  to  our  Father  ;  but  the  performance  of  smalkr  dulies^ 
yes,  even  of  the  smallest,  will  do  more  to  give  us  TOmporary 
rejx)se,  will  act  more  as  healthful  anodynes,  than  the  greateav 
joys  that  can  come  to  us  from  any  other  quarter.  He  soon  fell 
asleep,  and  dreamed  that  he  was  a- little  child,  lost  in  a  snow- 
storm ;  and  that,  just  as  the  snow  had  reached  above  his  head, 
and  he  was  beginning  to  be  smothered,  a  great  hand  caught 
hold  of  him  by  the  arm  and  lifted  him  out;  and,  lo  !  the  storm 
had  ceased,  and  the  stars  were  sparkling  overhead  like  diamonds 
that  had  been  drinking  the  light  of  the  sun  all  day ;  and  he 
saw  that  it  was  David,  as  strong  as  ever,  who  had  rescued  him, 
the  little  child,  and  was  leading  him  home  to  Janet.  But  he 
got  sleepy  and  fiiint  upon  the  way,  which  was  long  and  cold ; 
and  then  David  lifted  him  up  and  carried  him  in  his  bosom,  and 
he  fell  asleep.  When  he  Avoke,  and,  opening  his  eyes,  looked 
up  to  him  who  bore  him,  it  Avas  David  no  longer.  The  face  was 
that  Avhich  Avas  marred  more  than  any  man's,  because  the  soul 
within  had  loved  more  :  it  Avasthe  fice  of  the  Son  of  Man,  and 
he  Avas  can-ying  him  like  a  lamb  in  his  bosom.  He  gazed  more 
and  more  as  they  travelled  through  the  cold  night ;  and  the 
joy  of  lying  in  the  embrace  of  that  man  grcAV  and  groAv,  till 
it  became  too  strong  for  the  bonds  of  sleep ;  and  he  awoke  in 
the  fog  of  a  London  morn  in  2:. 


# 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  315 


CHAPTER    L. 

ENDEAVORS. 

And,  even  should  misfortunes  come, 
—  I,  here  wha  sit,  hae  met  wi'  some, 

An's  thankfu'  for  them  yet. 
They  gio  the  wit  of  ago  to  youth  ; 

They  let  us  ken  oursel'; 
They  male'  us  see  the  naked  truth. 
The  real  guid  and  ill. 
The'  losses  and  crosses 
^  .    -  Be  lessons  right  severe, 

^1^-  "■:  There's  wit  there,  ye'll  get  there, 

»i    ■  Ye'll  find  nae  other  where. 

;.    ^      ,;  Burns. 

Hugh  took  his  advertisement  to  tlie  "  Times  "  office,  find  paid 
wliat  seemed  to  him  an  awful  amount  for  its  insertion.  Then 
he  wandered  about  London  till  the  middle  of  the  daj,  when  he 
went  into  a  baker's  shop,  and  bought  two  penny  loaves,  which 
he  put  in  his  pocket.  Having  found  his  way  to  the  British 
Museum,  he  devoured  them  at  his  leisure  as  he  walked  through 
the  Grecian  and  Roman  saloons.  "What  is  the  use  of  good 
health.''  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  a  man  cannot  live  upon  bread  ?  " 
Porridge  and  oatmeal  cakes  would  have  pleased  him  as  well ; 
but  that  food  for  horses  is  not  so  easily  procured  in  London, 
and  costs  more  than  the  other.  A  cousin  of  his  had  lived  in 
Edinburgh  for  six  months  upon  eighteen-pence.  a  week  in  that 
way,  and  had  slept  the  greater  part  of  the  time  upon  the  floor, 
training  himself  for  the  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life.  And  he 
could  not  forget  the  college  youth  whom  his  comrades  had  con- 
sidered mean,  till  they  learned  that,  out  of  his  poor  bursary 
of  fourteen  pounds  a  session,  and  what  he  could  make  besid.es 
by  private  teaching,  at  the  rate  previously  mentioned  or  even 
less,  he  helped  his  parents  to  educate  a  younger  brother ;  and, 
in  order  to  do  so,  lived  himself  upon  oatmeal  and  potatoes. 
But  they  did  not  find  this  out  till  after  he  was  dead,  poor  fel- 
low !     He  could  not  stand  it. 

I  ought  at  the  same  time  to  mention,  that  Hugh  rarely  made 
use  of  a  crossing  on  a  muddy  day.  without  finding  a  half-penny 
somewhere  about  him  for  the  sweeper.     He  Avould  rather  walk 


316  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

through  oceans  of  mud,  than  cross  at  the  natural  place  when 
ho  had  no  coppers,  —  especially  if  he  had  patent  leather  boots 
on. 

After  he  had  eaten  his  bread,  he  went  home  to  get  some 
water.  Then,  as  he  had  nothing  else  to  do,  he  sat  down  in  his 
room,  and  began  to  manufacture  a  story,  thinking  it  just  pos- 
sible it  might  be  accepted  by  one  or  other  of  the  pseudo-literary 
publications  with  which  London  is  inundated  in  hebdomadal 
floods.  He  found  spinning  almost  as  easy  as  if  lie  h;id  been  a 
spider,  for  he  had  a  ready  invention,  and  a  natural  gift  of 
speech;  so  that,  in  a  few  days,  he  had  finished  a  story  (juitc 
as  good  as  most  of  those  that  appear  in  the  better  sort  of  weekly 
publications.  This,  in  his  modesty,  he  seat  to  one  of  the 
inferior  sort,  and  heard  nothing  more  of  it  than  if  he  had  flung 
it  into  the  sea.  Possibly  he  flew  too  low.  He  tried  again ; 
but  with  no  better  success.  His  ambition  grew  with  his  dis- 
appointments, or  perhaps  rather  with  the  exercise  of  his 
faculties.  Before  many  days  had  passed,  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  try  a  novel.  For  three  months  he  worked  at  this  six  hours 
a  day  regularly.  When  material  failed  him,  from  the  exhaus- 
tion consequent  upon  uninterrupted  production,  he  would 
recreate  himself  by  lying  fallow  for  an  hour  or  two,  or  walking 
out  in  a  mood  for  merely  passive  observation.  But  this 
anticipates. 

His  advertisement  did  not  produce  a  single  inquiry,  and  he 
shrunk  from  spending  more  money  in  such  an  apparently 
unprofitable  appliance.  Day  after  day  went  by,  and  no  voice 
reached  him  from  the  unknown  world  of  labor.  He  went  at 
last  to  several  stationers'  shops  in  the  neighborhood,  boufi^ht 
some  necessary  articles,  and  took  these  opportunities  of  askintn- 
if  they  knew  of  any  one  in  want  of  sucli  assistance  as  he  could 
give.  But,  unpleasant  as  he  felt  it  to  make  such  inquiries,  he 
soon  found  that  to  most  people  it  was  equally  unpleasant  to 
reply  to  them.  There  seemed  to  be  something  disreputable  in 
having  to  answer  such  questions,  to  judge  from  the  constrained^ 
indifferent,  and  sometimes,  though  not  often,  surly  answers 
which  he  received.  '-Can  it  be,"  thought  Hugh,  "as  dis- 
graceful to  ask  for  Avork  as  to  ask  for  bread  ?  "  If  he  had  had 
a  thousand  a  year,  and  had  wanted  a  situation  of  another 
thousand,  it  would  have  been  quite  commendable  ;  but  to  try  to 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  317 

elude  cold  and  hunger  by  inquiring  after  paltrj  shillings' 
■R-orths  of  hard  labor  was  despicable. 

So  he  placed  the  more  hope  upon  his  novel,  and  worked  at 
that  diligently.  But  he  did  not  find  it  quite  so  easy  as  he  had 
at  first  expected.  Ko  one  finds  anything  either  so  easy  or  so 
difficult  as,  in  opposite  moods,  he  had  expected  to  find  it. 
E^•erything  is  possible ;  but  without  labor  and  failure  nothing 
is  achievable.  The  labor,  however,  comes  naturally,  and 
experience  grows  without  agonizing  transitions ;  while  the 
failure  generally  points,  in  its  detected  cause,  to  the  way  of 
future  success.     He  worked  on. 

He  did  not,  however,  forget  the  ring.  Frequent  were  his 
meditations,  in  the  pauses  of  his  story,  and  when  walking  in 
the  streets,  as  to  the  best  means  of  recovering  it.  I  should 
rather  say  any  means  than  best ;  for  it  was  not  yet  a  question 
of  choice  and  degrees.  The  count  could  not  but  have  known 
that  the  ring  was  of  no  money  value ;  therefore  it  was  not 
likely  that  he  had  stolen  it  in  order  to  part  with  it  again. 
Consequently  it  Avould  be  of  no  use  to  advertise  it,  or  to  search 
for  it  in  the  pawnbrokers'  or  second-hand  jewellers'  shops.  To 
find  the  crystal,  it  was  clear  as  itself  that  he  miist  first  find  the 
count. 

But  how  ?  He  could  think  of  no  plan.  Any  alarm  would 
place  the  count  on  the  defensive,  and  the  jcAvel  at  once  beyond 
reach.  Besides,  he  wished  to  keep  the  whole  matter  quiet,  and 
gain  his  object  without  his  or  any  other  name  coming  before 
the  public.  Therefore  he  Avould  not  venture  to  apply  to  the 
police,  though  doubtless  they  would  be  able  to  discover  the 
man,  if  he  were  anywhere  in  London.  He  surmised  that  in  all 
probability  they  knew  him  already.  But  he  could  not  come 
to  any  conclusion  as  to  the  object  he  must  have  had  in  view  in 
securing  such  a  trifle. 

Hugh  had  all  but  forgotten  the  count's  cheque  for  a  hundred 
guineas ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  never  intended  presenting 
it,-^-  the  repugnance  which  some  minds  feel  to  using  money 
which  they  have  neither  received  by  gift,  nor  acquired  by 
honest  earning,  being  at  least  equal  to  the  pleasure  other 
minds  feel  in  gaining  it  without  the  expense  of  either  labor  or 
obligation  ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  since  he  knew  more  about 
the  drawer,  he  had  felt  sure  that  it  would  be  of  no  use  to 


318  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

present  it.     To  make  this  latter  conviction  a  certainty,  he  did 
present  it,  and  found  that  there  were  no  eflfects. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

A    LETTER    FROM    THE    POST. 

HipoUto.     Is  your  wife  then  departed  ? 

Orlando.  She's  an  old  dweller  in  those  high  countries,  yet  not  from  me  :  here, 
ihe's  here  ;  a  good  couple  arc  seldom  parted.  —  Dekkkk. 

What  wonderful  things  letters  are  !  In  trembling  and  hope 
the  fingers  unclasp,  and  the  folded  sheet  drops  into  —  no,  not 
the  post-office  letter-box,  but  into  —  space. 

I  have  read  a  story  somewhere  of  a  poor  child  that  dropped 
a  letter  into  the  post-office,  addressed  to  Jesus  Cltrist  in 
Heaven.  And  it  reached  him,  and  the  child  had  her  answer. 
For  was  it  not  Christ  present  in  the  good  man  or  woman  —  I 
forget  the  particulars  of  the  story  —  who  sent  the  child  the 
help  she  needed  ?  There  Avas  no  necessity  for  him  to  answer 
in  person,  as  in  the  case  of  Abgarus,  King  of  Edessa. 

Out  of  space  from  somewhere  comes  the  answer.  Such 
letters  as  those  given  in  a  previous  chapter  are  each  a  spirit- 
cry  sent  out,  like  a  Noah's  dove,  into  the  abyss ;  and  the  spirit 
turns  its  ear,  where  its  mouth  had  been  turned  before,  and  leans 
listening  for  the  spirit-echo, —  the  echo  with  a  soul  in  it, —  the 
answering  voice  which  out  of  the  abyss  ^N\\\  enter  by  the  gate 
now  turned  to  receive  it.  Whose  will  be  the  voice?  What 
will  be  the  sense  ?  What  chords  on  the  harp  of  life  have  been 
struck  afar  off  by  the  arrow-words  of  the  letter  ?  What  tones 
will  they  send  back  to  the  longing,  hungering  ear?  The 
mouth  hath  spoken,  that  the  fainting  ear  may  be  filled  by  the 
return  of  its  words  through  the  alembic  of  another  soul. 

One  cause  of  great  uneasiness  to  Hugh  was,  that,  for  some 
time  after  a  reply  might  have  been  expected,  he  received  no 
answer  from  David  Elginbrod.  At  length,  however,  a  letter 
arrived,  upon  the  handwriting  of  which  he  speculated  in  vain, 
perplexed  with  a  resemblance  in  it  to  some  writing  that  he  Imew ; 


DAVID    ELGINBROB.  819 

and  when  he  opened  it,  he  found  the  following  answer  to  his 
own  :  — 

"Dear  Mr.  Sutherland: — Your  letter  to  my  father  has  been  8ent 
to  me  by  my  mother,  for  what  you  will  feel  to  be  the  sad  reason,  that 
lie  is  no  more  in  tiiis  world.  But  I  cannot  say  it  is  so  very  sad  to  me  to 
think  that  he  is  cone  home,  where  my  mother  and  I  will  soon  join  him. 
True  love  can  wait  well.  Nor  indeed,  dear  Mr.  Sutherland,  must  you 
be  too  much  troubled  that  your  letter  never  reached  iiini.  My  faliivi 
was  like  God  in  this,  that  he  always  forgave  anything  the  moment 
there  was  anything*  to  forgive ;  for  when  else  could  there  be  such  a  good 
time?  —  although,  of  course,  the  person  forgiven  could  not  know  it  till 
he  asked  for  forgiveness.  But,  dear  Mr.  Sutherland,  if  you  could  see 
me  smiling  as  I  write,  and  could  ^^et  see  how  earnest  my  heart  is  i  ) 
writing  it,  I  would  venture  to  say  that,  in  virtue  of  my  knowing  my 
father  as  I  do, —  for  I  am  sure  I  know  his  very  soul,  as  near  as  human 
love  could  know  it, —  I  forgive  you,  in  his  name,  for  anything  and 
everything  with  which  you  reproach  yourself  in  regard  to  him.  Ah! 
how  much  I  owe  you!  And  liow  much  he  used  to  say  he  owed  you! 
We  shall  thank  you  one  day,  when  we  all  meet. 
"I  am,  dear  Mr.  Sutherland, 

"  Your  grateful  scholar,  * 

"  Margaret  Elgixbrod." 

Hugh  burst  into  tears  on  readino;  this  letter.  —  with  no 
overpowering  sense  of  his  own  sin,  for  he  felt  that  he  was  for- 
given ;  but  with  a  sudden  insight  into  the  beauty  and  grandeur 
of  the  man  whom  he  had  neglected,  and  the  Avondrous  loveliness 
which  he  had  transmitted  from  the  feminine  part  of  his  nature 
to  the  wholly  feminine  and  therefore  delicately  powerful  nature 
of  Margaret.  The  vision  he  had  beheld  in  the  library  at  Arn- 
stead,  about  which,  as  well  as  about  many  other  things  that 
had  happened  to  him  there,  he  could  form  no  theory  capable  of 
embracing  all  the  facts. —  this  vision  returned  to  his  mind's 
eye,  and  he  felt  that  the  glorified  fice  he  had  beheld  must 
surely  have  been  Margaret's,  whether  he  had  seen  it  in  the 
body  or  out  of  the  body :  such  a  face  alone  seemed  to  him 
wortbj*  of  the  writer  of  this  letter.  Purposely  or  not,  there 
was  no  address  given  in  it;  and  to  his  surprise,  when  he  ex- 
amined the  envelope  with  the  utmost  care,  he  could  discover 
no  postmark  but  the  London  one.  The  date-stamp  likewise 
showed  that  it  must  have  been  posted  in  London. 

"  So,"'  said  he  to  himself,  '^  in  my  quest  of  a  devil,  I  may 
cross  the  track  of  an  angel,  who  knows  ?  But  how  can  she  be 
here?" 

To  this  of  course  he  had  no  answer  at  hand. 


820  DAVID    ELQINBROD. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

BEGINNINGS. 

Siniio  a  man  is  bound  no  farther  to  himself  than  to  do  wisely,  ohance  is  only  to 
trouble  tbeiu  that  stand  upon  chance.  —  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  —  The  Arcadia. 

Meantime  a  feeble  star,  but  sparkling  some  rays  of  comfort, 
began  to  shine  upon  Hugh's  wintrj  prospects.  This  star  arose 
in  a  grocer's  shop.  For  one  day  bis  landlady,  whose  grim 
attentions  had  been  increasino;  rather  than  diminishinij,  ad- 
dressed  him  suddenly  as  she  was  removing  his  breakflist 
apparatus.  This  was  a  very  extraordinary  event,  for  she 
seldom  addressed  him  at  all ;  and  replied,  when  he  addressed 
her,  only  in  the  briefest  manner  possible. 

"  Have  you  got  any  pupils  yet,  Mr.  Sutherland?  " 

' '  No  —  I  am  sorry  to  say.  But  how  did  you  come  to  know 
I  wanted  any.  Miss  Talbot  ?  ' ' 

"  You  shouldn't  have  secrets  at  home,  Mr.  Sutherland.  I 
like  to  know  what  concerns  my  own  family,  and  I  generally 
find  out." 

"You  saw  my  advertisement,  perhaps  ?  " 

To  this  suggestion  Miss  Talbot  made  no  other  answer  than 
the  usual  compression  of  her  lips. 

"  You  wouldn't  be  above  teaching  a  tradesman's  son  to 
begin  with  ?  " 

"Certainly  not.  I  should  be  very  happy.  Do  you  know 
of  such  a  pupil?  " 

"  "Well,  I  can't  exactly  say  I  do  know  or  I  don't  know  ;  but 
I  happened  to  mention  to  my  grocer  round  the  corner  that  you 
wanted  pupils.  Don't  suppose,  Mr.  Sutherland,  that  I'm  in 
the  way  of  talking  about  any  young  men  of  mine  ;  but —  " 

"  Not  for  a  moment,"  interrupted  Hugh;  and  Miss  Talbol 
resumed,  evidently  gratified. 

"  Well,  if  you  wouldn't  mind  stepping  round  the  corner,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  you  might  make  an  arrangement  with  Mr. 
Appleditch.     He  said  you  might  call  upon  him  if  j^ou  liked." 

Hugh  jumped  up,  and  got  his  hat  at  once  ;  received  the  few 
necessary  directions  from  Miss  Talbot,   and  soon  found  the 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  S21 

shop.  There  were  a  good  many  poor  people  in  it,  buying 
sui^ar,  and  soap,  etc.  ;  and  one  lady  apparently  giving  a  large 
order.  A  young  man  came  to  Hugh,  and  bent  over  the  counter 
in  a  recipient  position,  like  a  live  point  of  interrogation.  Hugh 
answered  :  — 

"Mr.  Appleditch." 

"  Mr.  Appleditch  will  be  disengaged  in  a  few  minutes. 
AYill  you  take  a  seat?  " 

The  grocer  was  occupied  with  the  lady  and  her  order ;  but 
as  soon  as  she  departed,  he  approached  Hugh  behind  the  ram- 
part, and  stood  towards  him  in  the  usual  retail  attitude. 

"My  name  is  Sutherland." 

"  Sutherland?  "  said  Mr.  Appleditch  ;  "  I  think  I've  'eard 
the  name  somewheres,  but  I  don't  know  the  face." 

' '  Miss  Talbot  mentioned  me  to  you,  I  understand,  Mr. 
Appleditch." 

"  Oh  !  ah!  I  remember.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Will  you 
step  this  way,  Mr.  Sutherland  ?  " 

Hugh  followed  him  through  a  sort  of  drawbridge  which  he 

o  c  o 

lifted  in  the  counter,  into  a  little  appendix  at  the  back  of  the 
shop.  Mr.  Appleditch  was  a  meek-looking  man,  with  large 
eyes,  plump,  pasty  cheeks,  and  a  thin  little  person. 

"  "Ow  de  do,  Mr.  Sutherland?"  said  he,  holding  out  his 
hand,  as  soon  as  they  had  reached  this  retreat. 

"  Thank  you —  quite  well,"  answered  Sutherland,  shaking 
hands  with  him  as  well  as  he  could,  the^es^^  n0|t|j beings 
altogether  pleasant.  /^^     ca  tij         '^/^ 

"  So  you  want  pupils,  do  you,  sir?  "  /••  *▼•-■  —  _  A 

"Yes'"  ...  (UNIVERSITT^^ 

"  Ah  !  well,   you  see,  sir,  pupils  is  scaf^S^-  at  this  seag 
They  aint    to  be  bought  in  every  shop  —  Im !   ha?"   ^ifi 
laugh  was  veiy  mild.)      "But  I  think  Mrs.  Appleditch  cOuTd 
find  you  one,  if  you  could  agree  with  her  about  the  charge, 
you  know,  and  all  that." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?     A  boy,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Well,  you're  right,  sir.  It  is  a  boy.  Not  very  old, 
though.  My  Samuel  is  just  ten,  but  a  Avonderful  forAvard  boy 
for  his  years  —  bless  him  !  " 

"  And  what  would  you  wish  him  to  learn  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  Latin  and  Greek,  and  all  that.     We  intend  bringing 
21 


822  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

him  up  for  the  ministry.     I  liope  your  opinions  are  decided, 

Bir?" 

"  On  some  points,  they  are.  But  I  do  not  know  to  what 
you  refer  exactly." 

"  I  mean  theological  opinions,  sir." 

"  But  I  shall  not  have  to  teach  your  little  boy  theology." 

"  Certainly  not,  sir.  That  department  belongs  to  his 
mother  and  I.  Unworthy  vessels,  sir ;  mere  earthen  vessels  ; 
but  filled  with  the  grace  of  God,  I  hope,  sir." 

The  grocer  parted  his  hands,  which  he  had  been  rubbing 
together  during  this  conversation,  and  lifted  them  upwards 
from  the  wrists,  like  the  fins  of  a  seal :  then  dropping  them, 
fell  to  rubbing  them  again. 

"I  hope  so.  V\^ell — you  know  the  best  way  will  be  for 
me  —  not  knowing  your  opinions  —  to  avoid  everything  of  a 
religious  kind." 

"  Ah  !  but  it  should  be  line  upon  line,  you  know;  here  a 
little,  and  there  a  little,  sir.  As  the  boiu  is  bent,  you  knoAV  — 
the  —  hoop  is  made,  you  know,  sir." 

Here  Mr.  Appleditch  stepped  to  the  door  suddenly,  and 
peeped  out,  as  if  he  feared  he  was  wanted  ;  but  presently 
returning,  he  continued  :  — 

"  But  time's  a  precious  gift,  sir,  and  we  must  not  waste  it. 
So,  if  you'll  do  us  the  honor,  sir,  to  dine  with  us  next  Lord's 
day, —  we  may  call  it  a  work  of  necessity,  you  know. — you 
will  see  the  little  Samuel,  and  —  and  —  Mrs.  Appleditch." 

'•I  shall  be  very  hajjpy.  What  is  your  address,  Mr.  Ap- 
pleditch?" 

"  You  bad  better  come  to  Salem  Chapel,  Dervish  town,  and 
we  can  go  home  together.  Service  commences  at  eleven.  Mrs. 
Appleditch  will  be  glad  to  see  you.  Ask  for  Mr.  Appleditch's 
pew.     Goo-ood-morning,  sir." 

Hugh  took  his  leave,  half  inclined  to  send  an  excuse  before 
the  day  arrived,  and  decline  the  connection.  But  his  princi- 
ple w^as,  to  take  whatever  offered,  and  thus  make  way  for  the 
next  thing.  Besides,  he  thus  avoided  the  responsibility  of 
choice,  from  which  he  always  shrunk. 

He  returned  to  his  novel ;  but,  alas  !  the  inventive  faculty 
point-blank  refused  to  work  under  the  weight  of  such  a  Sun- 
day in  prospect.     He  wandered  out,  quite  disjjirited ;  but,  be- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  328 

fore  long,  to  take  his  revenge  upon  circumstances,  resolved  at 
least  to  have  a  dinner  out  of  them.  So  he  went  to  a  chop- 
house,  had  a  chop  and  a  glass  of  ale,  and  was  astonished  to 
find  how  much  he  enjoyed  them.  In  fact,  abstinence  gave  his 
very  plain  dinner  more  than  all  the  charms  of  a  feast,  —  a  fact 
of  which  Hugh  has  not  been  the  only  discoverer.  He  studied 
"  Punch  ■'  all  the  time  he  ate,  and  rose  with  his  spirits  perfectly 
restored. 

•  "  Now  I  am  in  for  it,"  said  he,  "I  will  be  extravagant  for 
once."  So  he  went  and  bought  a  cigar,  which  he  spun  out 
into  three  miles  of  smoke,  as  he  wandered  through  Shoreditch, 
and  Iloundsditch,  and  Petticoat-lane,  gazing  at  the  faces  of 
his  brothers  and  sisters  ;  which  faces,  having  been  so  many 
years  wrapt  in  a  fog  both  moral  and  physical,  now  looked  out 
of  it  as  if  they  were  only  the  condemned  nuclei  of  the,  same 
fos;  and  filth. 

As  he  was  returning  through  Whitechapel,  he  passed  a  man 
on  the  pavement,  whose  appearance  was  so  remarkable  that  he 
could  not  help  looking  back  after  him.  When  he  reflected 
about  it,  he  thought  that  it  must  have  been  a  certain  indescrib- 
able resemblance  to  David  Elginbrod  that  had  so  attracted  him. 
The  man  was  very  tall.  Six-foot  Hugh  felt  dwarfed  beside 
him.  for  he  had  to  look  right  up,  as  he  jxissed,  to  see  his  face. 
He  was  dressed  in  loose,  shabby  black.  He  had  high  and 
otherwise  very  marked  features,  and  a  dark  complexion.  A 
general  carelessness  of  demeanor  was  strangely  combined  with 
an  expression  of  reposeful  strength  and  quiet  concentration  of 
will.  At  lu)w  much  of  this  conclusion  Hugh  arrived  after 
knowing  more  of  him  I  cannot  tell ;  but  such  was  the  descrip- 
tion he  gave  of  him  as  he  saw  him  first ;  and  it  was  thoroughly 
correct.  His  countenance  always  seemed  to  me  (for  I  knew 
him  well)  to  represent  a  nature  ever  bent  in  one  direction,  but 
never  in  haste,  because  never  in  doubt. 

To  carry  his  extravagance  and  dissipation  still  further,  Hugh 
now  betook  himself  to  the  pit  of  the  Olympic  Theatre ;  and  no 
one  could  have  laughed  more  heartily,  or  cried  more  helplessly 
that  night  than  he  ;  for  he  gave  himself  Avholly  up  to  the  influen-' 
ces  of  the  ruler  of  the  hour,  the  admirable  Rob^on.  But  what  was 
his  surprise,  when,  standing  up  at  the  close  of  the  first  act  and 
looking  around  and  above  him,  he  saw,  unmistakably,  the  same 


824  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

remarkable  countenance  looking  down  upon  him  from  the  front 
row  of  the  gallery,  lie  continued  his  circuit  of  observation, 
trying  to  discover  the  face  of  Funkelstein  in  the  boxes  or  cir- 
cles ;  but  involuntarily  he  turned  his  gaze  back  to  the  strange 
countenance,  which  still  seemed  bent  towards  his.  The  curtain 
rose,  and  during  the  second  act  he  forgot  all  about  everything 
else.  At  its  close  he  glanced  up  to  the  gallery  again,  and 
there  was  the  face  still,  and  still  looking  at  him.  At  the  close  of 
the  third  act  it  had  vanished,  and  he  saw  nothing  more  of  it  that 
evening.  When  the  after-piece  was  over,  for  he  sat  it  out,  he 
Avalked  quietly  home,  much  refreshed.  He  had  needed  some 
relaxation,  after  many  days  of  close  and  continuous  labor. 

But  awfully  solemn  Avas  the  face  of  good  Miss  Talbot,  as  she 
opened  the  door  for  .him  at  midnight.  Hugh  took  especial 
pains. with  his  boots  and  the  door-mat,  but  it  was  of  no  use; 
the  austerity  of  her  countenance  would  not  relax  in  the  least. 
So  he  took  his  candle  and  walked  upstairs  to  his  room,  saying 
only  as  he  Avent,  being  unable  to  think  of  anything  else :  — 

"Good-night,  Miss  Talbot.'" 

But  no  response  proceeded  from  the  offended  divinity  of  the 
place. 

He  went  to  bed  somewhat  distressed  at  the  behavior  of  IMiss 
Talbot,  for  he  had  a  Aveakness  for  being  on  good  terms  with 
everybody.  But  he  resolved  to  have  it  out  Avith  her  next 
morning ;  and  so  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  of  the  strange  man 
who  had  watched  him  at  the  theatre. 

He  rose  next  morning  at  the  usual  time.  But  his  breakfast 
was  delayed  half  an  hour ;  and  when  it  came,  the.  maid  Avaited 
upon  him,  and  not  her  mistress,  as  usual.  When  he  had 
finished,  and  she  returned  to  take  aAvay  the  ruins,  he  asked  her 
to  say  to  her  mistress  that  he  Avanted  to  speak  to  her.  She 
brought  back  a  message,  Avhich  she  delivered  Avith  some  diffi- 
culty, and  evidently  under  compulsion,  —  that  if  Mr.  Suther- 
land Avanted  to  speak  to  her,  he  would  find  her  in  the  back 
parlor.  Hugh  Avent  down  instantly,  and  found  INIiss  Talbot  in 
a  doubly  frozen  condition,  her  face  absolutely  blue  Avith  phys- 
ical and  mental  cold  combined.  She  Avaited  for  Iiim  to  speak. 
Hugh  began  :  — 

"  Miss  Talbot,  it  seems  something  is  wrong  betAveen  you  and 
me." 


DAVID    ELGINBSOD.  825 

-Yes,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

"  Is  it  because  I  was  rather  late  last  night?  " 

"  Rather  late,  Mr.  Sutherland  ?  " 

Miss  Talbot  showed  no  excitement.  With  her,  the  ther- 
mometer, in  place  of  rising  under  the  influence  of  irritation, 
steadily  sank. 

'■  I  cannot  make  myself  a  prisoner  on  parole,  you  know, 
jMiss  Talbot.     You  must  leave  me  my  liberty."' 

"  Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Sutherland.  Take  your  liberty.  You'll  go 
,  the  way  of  all  the  rest.     It's  no  use  trying  to  save  any  of  you." 

"  But  I'm  not  aware  that  I  am  in  any  particular  want  of 
saving.  Miss  Talbot." 

"  There  it  is  !  —  Well,  till  a  sinner  is  called  and  awakened, 
of  course  it's  no  use.  So  I'll  just  do  the  best  I  can  for  you. 
Who  can  tell  when  the  Spirit  may  be  poured  from  on  high  ? 
But  it's  very  sad  to  me,  Mr.  Sutherland,  to  see  an  amiable 
young  man  like  you,  going  the  way  of  transgressors,  which  is 
hard.     I  am  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

Though  the  ice  was  not  gone  yet,  it  had  begun  to  melt  under 
the  influences  of  Hugh's  good-temper,  and  Miss  Talbot's  sym- 
pathy with  his  threatening  fate.  Conscieiice,  too,  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  change  ;  for,  much  as  one  of  her  tempera- 
ment must  have  disliked  making  such  a  confession,  she  ended 
by  adding,  after  a  pause  :  — 

"  And  very  sorry,  Mr.  Sutherland,  that  I  showed  you  any 
bad  temper  last  night." 

Poor  Miss  Talbot !  Hugh  saw  that  she  was  genuinely 
troubled  about  him,  and  resolved  to  oifend  but  seldom  while 
he  was  under  her  roof. 

"Perhaps,  when  you  know  me  longer,  you  will  find  I  am 
steadier  than  you  think." 

"  Well,  it  may  be.  But  steadiness  won't  make  a  Christian 
of  you." 

"  It  may  make  a  tolerable  lodger  of  me  though,"  answered 
Hugh;  "  and  you  wouldn't  turn  me  into  the  street  because  I 
am  steady  and  nothing  more,  would  you?  " 

'•  I  said  I  was  sorry,  Mr.  Sutherland.  Do  you  wish  me  to 
say  more  ?  ' ' 

"  Bless  your  kind  heart !  "  said  Hugh.  "  I  was  only 
joking." 


526  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Miss  Talbot,  and  her  eyes  glistened 
as  she  took  it.  She  pressed  it  kindly,  and  abandoned  it  in- 
stantly. 

So  all  was  right  between  them  once  more. 

"Who  knows,"  murmured  Miss  Talbot,  ''but  the  Lord 
may  save  him  ?  He's  surely  not  far  from  the  kingdom  of  heav- 
en.    I'll  do  all  I  can  to  make  him  comfortable." 


CHAPTER   LIIL 

A  SUNDAY'S  DINNER. 

Some  books  arc  lies  frae  end  to  end, 
And  some  great  lies  were  never  penned: 
Even  ministers,  they  hao  boen  kenned, 

lu  holy  rapture, 
Great  lies  and  nonsense  baith  to  vend. 
And  nail't  wi'  Scripture. 

Burns. 

To  the  great  discomposure  of  Hugh,  Sunday  was  inevitable, 
and  he  had  to  set  out  for  Salem  Chapel.  He  found  it  a  neat 
little  Noah's  Ark  of  a  place,  built  in  the  shape  of  a  cathedral, 
I  and  consequently  sharing  in  the  general  disadvantages  to  which 
'dwarfs  of  all  kinds  are  subjected,  absurdity  included.  He  was 
shown  to  Mr.  Appleditch's  pew-  That  worthy  man  received 
him  in  sleek  black  clothes,  with  white  neckcloth,  and  Sunday 
face  composed  of  an  absuA'd  mixture  of  stupidity  and  sanctity. 
He  stood  up,  and  Mrs.  Appleditch  stood  up,  and  Master  Apple- 
ditch  stood  up,  and  Hugh  saw  that  the  ceremony  of  the  place 
required  that  he  should  force  his  way  between  the  front  of  the 
pew  and  the  person  of  each  of  the  Imnian  beings  occu}>ying  it, 
till  he  reached  the  top,  where  there  was  room  for  him  to  sit 
down.     No  other  recognition  was  taken  till  after  service. 

Meantime  the  minister  ascended  the  pulpit-stair,  with  all  the 
solemnity  of  one  of  the  self-elect,  and  a  priest  besides.  He 
was  just  old  enough  for  the  intermittent  attacks  of  self-impcr- 
tance,  to  which  all  youth  is  exposed,  to  have  in  his  case  become 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  827 

chronic.  He  stood  up  and  worshipped  his  Creator  aloud,  uftei 
a  manner  which  seemed  to  say  in  every  tone :  ."  Behold,  I  am 
he  that  worshippeth  Thee  !  How  mig-hty  art  Thou  !  "  Then  he 
read  the  Bible  in  a  quarrelsome  sort  of  way,  as  if  he  were  a 
bantam,  and  every  verse  were  a  crow  of  defiance  to  the  sinner. 
Tiien  they  sang  a  hymn  in  a  fashion  which  brought  dear  old 
Scotland  to  Hugh's  mind,  which  has  the  sweetest  songs  in  its 
cottages,  and  the  worst  singing  in  its  churches,  of  any  country 
in  the  world.  But  it  was  almost  equalled  here  ;  the  chief  cause 
of  its  badness  being  the  absence  of  a  modest  self-restraint,  and 
consequent  tempering  of  the  tones,  on  the  part  of  the  singers ; 
so  that  the  result  was  what  Hugh  could  describe  only  as 
scraiddn* 

I  was  once  present  at  the  worship  of  some  being  who  is  sup- 
posed by  negroes  to  love  drums  and  cymbals,  and  all  clangorous 
noises.  The  resemblance,  according  to  Hugh's  description^ 
could  not  liave  been  a  very  distant  one.  And  yet  I  doubt  not 
that  some  thoughts  of  worshipping  love  mingled  with  the  noise; 
and  perhaps  the  harmony  of  these  with  the  spheric  melodies 
sounded  the  sweeter  to  the  angels,  from  the  earthly  discord  in 
which  they  were  lapped. 

Then  came  the  sermon.  The  text  was  the  story  of  the  good 
Samaritan.  Some  idea,  if  not  of  the  sermon,  yet  of  the  value 
of  it,  may  be  formed  from  the  fact  that  the  first  thing  to  be 
considered,  or,  in  other  words,  the  first  head  was,  "  The  culpa- 
ble imprudence  of  the  man  in  going  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho 
without  an  escort." 

It  was,  in  truth,  a  strange,  grotesque,  and  somewhat  awful 
medley,  —  not  unlike  a  dance  of  Death,  in  which  the  painter 
has  given  here  a  lovely  face,  and  there  a  beautiful  arm  or  an 
exquisite  foot,  to  the  Avild-prancing  and  exultant  skeletons.  But 
the  parts  of  the  sermon  corresponding  to  the  beautiful  face,  or 
arm,  or  foot,  were  but  the  fragments  of  Scripture,  shining  like 
gold  amidst  the  worthless  ore  of  the  man's  own  production,  — • 
worthless,  save  as  gravel,  or  chaff,  or  husks  have  worth,  in  a 
world  where  dilution,  and  not  always  concentration,  is  necessary 
for  healthfulness. 

But  there  are  Indians  who  eat  clay,  and  thrive  on  it  more  or 

•  Ch  guttural.     The  land-rail  is  a  corn-scraich. 


828  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

less,  I  suppose.  The  power  of  assimilation  Avbich  a  growing 
nature  must  possess  is  astonishing.  It  will  find  its  fbo:l,  its 
real  Sunday  dinner,  in  the  midst  of  a  whole  cart-load  of  refuse  ; 
and  it  will  do  the  whole  week's  work  on  it.  On  no  other  sup- 
position would  it  be  possible  to  account  for  the  earnest  face  of 
Miss  Talbot,  Avhich  Ilugh  espied  turned  up  to  the  preacher,  as 
if  his  fjice  were  the  very  star  in  the  east,  shining  to  guide  the 
chosen  kings.  It  was  well  for  Hugh's  power  of  endurance  that 
he  had  heard  much  the  same  thing  in  Scotland,  and  the  same 
thing  better  dressed  and  less  grotesque,  but  more  lifeless,  and 
at  heart  as  ill-mannered,  in  the  church  of  Arnstead. 

Just  before  concluding  the  service,  the  pastor  made  an  an- 
nouncement in  the  following  terms  :  — 

"After  the  close  of  the  present  service,  I  shall  be  found  in 
the  adjoining  vestry  by  all  persons  desirous  of  communicating 
with  me  on  the  state  of  their  souls,  or  of  being  admitted  to  the 
privileges  of  church-fellowship.  Brethren,  we  have  this  treas- 
ure in  earthen  vessels,  and  so  long  as  this  vessel  lasts"  —  here 
he  struck  his  chest  so  that  it  resounded  —  "  it  shall  be  faith- 
fully and  liberally  dispensed.     Let  us  pray." 

After  the  prayer,  he  spread  abroad  his  arms  and  hands,  as  if 
he  would  clasp  the  world  in  his  embrace,  and  pronounced  the 
benediction  in  a  style  of  arrogance  that  the  Pope  himself  Avould 
have  been  ashamed  of. 

The  service  being  thus  concluded,  the  organ  absolutely 
blasted  the  congregation  out  of  the  chapel,  so  did  it  storm  and 
rave  with  a  fervor  anything  but  divine. 

My  readers  must  not  suppose  that  I  give  this  chapel  as  the 
type  of  orthodox  dissenting  chapels.  I  give  it  only  as  an  ap- 
proximate specimen  of  a  large  class  of  them.  The  religious  life 
which  these  communities  once  possessed  still  lingers  in  those 
of  many  country  districts  and  small  towns,  but  is,  I  fear,  all 
but  gone  from  those  of  the  cities  and  lai-ger  towns.  What  of 
it  remains  in  these  has  its  chief  manifestation  in  the  fungous 
growth  of  such  chapels  as  the  one  I  have  described,  the  con- 
gregations themselves  taking  this  for  a  sure  indication  of  the 
prosperity  of  the  body.  How  much  even  of  the  kind  of  pros- 
perity which  they  ought  to  indicate  is  in  reality  at  the  founda- 
tion of  these  appearances,  I  would  recommend  those  to  judge 
who  are  versed  in  the  mysteries  of  chapel -building  societies. 


DAVID    ELGINr.ROD.  329 

As  to  Hugh,  whether  it  was  thnt  the  whole  affair  was  sug- 
gestive of  Egyptian  bondage,  or  tliat  his  own  mood  was,  at  the 
time,  of  the  least  comfortable  sort,  I  will  not  pretend  to  deter- 
mine ;  but  he  assured  me  that  he  felt  all  the  time  as  if.  instead 
of  being  in  a  chapel  built  of  bricks  harmoniously  arranged,  as 
by  the  lyre  of  Amphion,  he  were  wandering  in  the  waste, 
wretched  field  whence  these  bricks  liad  been  dug,  of  all  pla^ies 
on  the  earth's  surface  the  most  miserable,  assailed  by  the  nau- 
seous odors,  which  have  not  character  enough  to  be  described, 
and  only  remind  one  of  the  colors  on  a  snake's  back. 

When  they  reached  the  open  air,  Mv.  Appleditch  introduced 
Hugh  to  Mrs.  Appleditch  on  the  steps  in  front  of  the  cliapel. 

"This  is  Mr.  Sutherland,  Mrs.  Appleditch."' 

Hugh  lifted  his  hat,  and  ^Irs.  x\ppleditch  made  a  courtesy. 
She  was  a  very  tall  woman,  —  a  head  beyond  her  husband,  — 
extremely  thin,  with  sharp  nose,  hollow  cheeks,  and  good  eyes. 
In  foct,  she  was  partly  pretty,  and  might  have  been  pleasant- 
looking  but  for  a  large,- thin-lipped,  vampire-like  mouth,  and  a 
general  expression  of  greed  and  contempt.  She  Avas  meant  for 
a.  lady,  and  had  made  herself  a  money-maggot.  She  was  richly 
and  plainly  dressed;  and,  until  she  began  to  be  at  her  ease, 
might  have  passed  for  an  unpleasant  ladi/.  Master  Appleditch, 
the  future  pastor,  was  a  fat  boy,  dressed  like  a  dwarf,  iu  a 
frock-coat  and  man"s  hat.  Avith  a  face  in  which  the  meanness 
and  keenness  strove  for  mastery,  and  between  them  kept  down 
the  appearance  of  stupidity  consequent  on  fatness.  They 
v/alked  home  in  silence,  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Appleditch  apparently 
pondering  either  upon  the  spiritual  food  they  had  just  received, 
or  the  corporeal  food  for  which  they  were  about  to  be  thauk- 
fal. 

Their  house  was  one  of  many  in  a  crescent.  Not  content 
with  his  sign  in  tovr'n,  the  grocer  had  a  large  brass  plate  on  his 
door,  with  Appleditch  engraved  upon  it  in  capitals :  it  saved 
them  always  looking  at  the  numbers.  The  boy  ran  on  before, 
and  assailed  this  door  with  a  succession  of  explosive  knocks. 

As  soon  as  it  was  opened  in  he  rushed,  bawling :  — 

"Peter.  Peter,  here's  the  new  apprentice  !  Papa's  brought 
him  home  to  dinner,  because  he  was  at  chapel  this  morning.'' 
Then,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  mean  to  havK3  a  ride  ou  his  back 
this  afternoon." 


830  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

The  father  and  mother  laughed.  A  solemn,  priggish  little 
voice  answered :  — 

"Oil,  no,  Johnny.  Don't  you  know  what  day  this  is? 
This  is  the  Sabbath-day." 

"  The  dear  boy  !  "  sighed  his  mother. 

"  That  boy  is  too  good  to  live,"  responded  the  father. 

Hugh  was  shown  into  the  dining-room,  where  the  table  was 
already  laid  for  dinner.  It  was  evident  that  the  Appleditclies 
were  well-to-do  people.  The  room  was  full  of  what  is  called 
handsome  furniture,  in  a  high  state  of  polish.  Over  the  chim- 
ney-piece hung  the  portrait  of  a  preacher  in  gown  and  bands, 
the  most  prominent  of  whose  features  were  his  cheeks. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  host  and  hostess  entered,  followed  by  a 
pale-faced  little  boy,  the  owner  of  the  voice  of  reproof 

"  Come  here,  Peetie,"  said  his  mother,  "  and  tell  Mr.  Suth- 
erland what  you  have  got." 

She  referred  to  some  toy,  —  no,  not  toy,  for  it  was  the  Sab- 
bath, —  to  some  book,  probably. 

Peetie  answered,  in  a  solemn  voice,  mouthing  every  vowel :  — 

"  I've  got  five  bags  of  ci;old  in  the  Bank  of  Ens-land." 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  his  mother,  with  a  scornful  giggle. 
'You  wouldn't  have  much  to  reckon  on,  if  that  were  all." 

Two  or  three  gayly  dressed  riflemen  passed  the  window.  The 
poor  fellows,  unable  to  bear. the  look  of  their  Sundaj  clothes, 
if  they  had  any,  after  being  used  to  tlieir  uniform,  had  come 
out  in  all  its  magnificence. 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Appleditch,  "that's  all  very  well  in  a 
state  of  nature ;  but  when  a  man  is  once  born  into  a  state  of 
grace,  Mr.  Sutherland  —  ah  !  '' 

"Really,"  responded  Mrs.  Appleditch,  "the  worldliness 
of  the  lower  classes  is  quite  awful.  But  they  are  spared  for  a 
day  of  wrath,  poor  things  !  I  am  sure  that  accident  on  tlio 
railway  last  Sabbath  might  have  been  a  warning  to  them  all. 
After  that  they  can't  say  there  is  not  a  God  that  ruleth  in  the 
earth,  and  taketh  vengeance  for  his  broken  Sabbaths." 

"Mr.  ,  I  don't  know  your  name,"  said  Peter,  whose 

age  Hugh  had  just  been  trying  in  vain  to  conjecture. 

"Mr.  Sutherland,"  said  the  mother. 

"Mr.  Slubberman,  are  you  a  converted  character?"  re* 
Bumed  Peter. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  331 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  that,  Master  Peter?"  said  Hugh, 
trying  to  smile. 

"  I  think  you  look  good,  but  mamma  says  she  don't  think 
you  are,  because  you  say  Sunday  instead  of  Sabbath,  and  she 
always  finds  people  who  do  are  Avorldly." 

Mrs.  Appleditch  turned  red, — not  blushed, — and  said, 
quickly :  — 

"  Peter  shouldn't  repeat  everything  he  hears." 

"No  more  I  do,  ma.  I  haven't  told  what  you  said 
about  —  " 

Here  his  mother  caught  him  up,  and  carried  him  out  of  the 
room,  saying :  — 

"  You  naughty  boy  !  you  shall  go  to  bed." 

"Oh,  no,  i  shan't." 

"Yes,  you  shall.  Here,  Jane,  take  this  naughty  boy  to 
bed." 

"I'll  scream." 

"  Will  you  V 

"Yes,  I  will!" 

And  such  a  yell  was  there 

Of  sudden  and  portentous  birth, 

As  if        ...         . 

ten  cats  were  being  cooked  alive. 

"  Well !  well !  well !  my  Peetie  !  He  shan't  go  to  bed,  if 
he'll  be  a  good  boy.     Will  he  be  good?  " 

"  May  I  stay  up  to  supper  then  ?     May  I?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  anything  to  stop  such  dreadful  screaming.  You 
are  very  naughty  —  very  naughty  indeed.''^ 

"No.     I'm  not  naughty.     I'll  scream  again." 
■  "No,  no.     Go  and  get  your  pinafore  on,  and  come  down  to 
dinner.     Anythmg  rather  than  a  scream." 

I  am  sick  of  all  this,  and  doubt  if  it  is  worth  printing ;  but 
it  amused  me  very  much  one  night  as  Hugh  related  it  over  a 
bottle  of  Chablis  and  a  pipe. 

He  certainly  did  not  represent  IMrs.  Appleditch  in  a  very 
favorable  light  on  the  whole  ;  but  he  took  care  to  say  that  tliere 
was  a  certain  liberality  about  the  table,  and  a  kind  of  hearti- 
ness in  her  way  of  pressing  him  to  have  more  than  he  could 
possibly  eat,   which  contrasted   strangely   with    her    behavior 


B32  DAVID    ELGINBROI). 

iftorwards  in  money  matters.  There  are  many  people  who  can 
be  liberal  in  almost  anything  but  money.  They  seem  to  say, 
'  Take  anything  but  my  purse.''  Miss  Talbot  told  him  after- 
wards that  this  same  lady  was  quite  active  amongst  the  poor 
of  lier  district.  She  made  it  a  rule  never  to  give  money,  or  at 
least  never  more  than  si.xpenco  ;  but  she  turned  scraps  of 
victuals  and  cast-off  clothes  to  the  best  account;  and,  if  site  did 
not  make  friends  with  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness,  she  yet 
kept  an  eye  on  the  eternal  habitations  in  the  distribution  of  the 
crumbs  that  fell  from  her  table.  Poor  Mr.  Appleditch,  on  tlie 
other  hand,  often  em})ezzled  a  shilling  or  a  half  crown  from  the 
till,  for  the  use  of  a  poor  member  of  the  same  church, — 
meaning  by  cliiirch,  the  individual  community  to  which  he 
belonged;  but  of  this,  Mrs.  Appleditch  was  carefully  kept 
ignorant. 

After  dinner  was  over,  and  the  children  had  been  sent  away, 
which  was  effected  without  a  greater  amount  of  difficulty  than, 
from  the  anticipativc  precautions  adopted,  appeared  to  be  lavr- 
ful  and  ordinary,  Mr.  Appleditcii  proceeded  to  business. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Sutherland,  what  do  you  think  of  Johnnie, 
sir?" 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say  yet;  but  I  am  quite  willing 
to  teach  him  if  you  like." 

"He's  a  forward  boy,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  responded  Hugh  :  for  he  remembered 
the  boy  asking  him,  across  the  table,  "  Isn't  our  Mr.  Lixom  " 
—  the  pastor  —  "a  oner  ?  " 

"  And  very  eager  and  retentive,"  said  his  father. 

Hugh  had  seen  the  little  glutton  paint  both  cheeks  to  the 
eyes  with  damson  tart,  and  render  more  than  a  quantity  pro- 
portionate to  the  coloring  invisible. 

"  Yes,  he  is  eager,  and  retentive  too,  I  dare  say,"  he  said ; 
"but  much  will  depend  on  whether  he  has  a  turn  for  study." 

"  Well,  you  will  find  that  out  to-morrow.  I  think  you  will 
be  surprised,  sir." 

"At  what  hour  would  you  like  me  to  come?  " 

"Stop,  Mr.  Appleditch,"  interposed  his  wife.      "You  have 
said  nothing  yet  about  terms  ;  and  that  is  of  some  importance, 
considering  the  rent  and  taxes  we  pay." 
."  Well,  my  love,  what  do  you  feel  inclined  to  give?  " 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  383 

"  How  much  do  jou  charge^  a  lesson,  Mr.  Sutherland  ? 
Only  let  me  remind  you,  sir,  that  he  is  a  very  little  boy, 
although  stout,  and  that  you  cannot  expect  to  put  much  Greek 
and  Latin  into  him  for  some  time  yet.  Besides,  we  want  you 
to  come  evenj  day,  which  ought  to  be  considered  in  the  rate 
of  cliar^e." 

"  Of  course  it  ought,"  said  Hugh. 

"  How  much  do  you  say,  then,  sir  ?  " 

"I  should  be  content  with  half  a  crown  a  lesson." 

"  I  dare  say  you  would  !  "  replied  the  lady,  with  indignation. 
"  Half  a  crown  !  That's  —  six  half  crowns  is  —  fifteen  shil- 
lings. Fifteen  shillings  a  week  for  that  mite  of  a  boy  !  Mr. 
Sutherland,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  sir." 

"You  forget,  Mrs.  Appleditch,  that  it  is  as  much  trouble 
to  me  to  teach  one  little  boy  —  yes,  a  great  deal  more  than  to 
teach  twenty  grown  men." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  sir.  You  a  Christian 
man,  and  talk  of  trouble  in  teaching  such  a  little  cherub  as 
that !  " 

"But  do  pray  remember  the  distance  I  have  to  come,  and 
that  it  will  take  nearly  four  hours  of  my  time  every  day." 

"Then  you  can  get  lodo-ino-s  nearer." 

"  But  I  could  not  get  any  so  cheap." 

"  Then  you  can  the  better  afford  to  do  it." 

And  she  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair,  as  if  she  had  struck 
the  decisive  blow.     Mr.  Appleditch  remarked,  gently :  — 

"It  is  good  for  your  health  to  walk  the  distance,  sir." 

Mrs.  Appleditch  resumed  :  — 

"  I  won't  give  a  farthincr  more  than  one  shillinof  a  lesson. 
There,  now !  " 

"Very  well,"  said  Hugh,  rising;  "then  I  must  wish  you 
good-day.     We  need  not  waste  more  time  in  talking  about  it." 

"  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  make  any  use  of  your  time  on 
a  Sunday?  "  said  the  grocer,  mildly.  "  Don't  be  in  a  hurry, 
Mr.  Sutherland.  We  tradespeople  like  to  make  the  best 
bargain  Ave  can." 

"Mr.  Appleditch,  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  You  always  will 
be  vulgar.     You  always  smell  of  the  shop." 

','  Well,  my  dear,  how  can  I  help  it  ?  The  sugar  and  soft- 
Boap  will  smell,  you  know." 


334  DAVID    ELOINBROD. 

"  Mr.  Applcditch,  you  disgust  me  !  " 

"  Dear  !  dear!  I  am  sorry  for  that.  Suppose  we  say  to 
Mr.  Sutherland  —  " 

"Now,  you  leave  that  to  me.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mr. 
Sutherland  —  I'll  give  you  eigh teen-pence  a  lesson,  and  your 
dinner  on  the  Sabbath ;  that  is,  if  you  sit  under  Mr.  Lixom  in 
our  pew,  and  walk  home  with  us." 

"That  I  must  decline,"  said  Hugh.  "I  must  have  my 
Sundays  for  myself" 

Mrs.  Appleditch  was  disappointed.  She  had  coveted  the 
additional  importance  which  the  visible  possession  of  a  live 
tutor  would  secure  her  at  "Salem." 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Sutherland,"  she  said.  "  And  I  must  trust  my 
child,  Avith  an  immortal  soul  in  his  inside,  to  one  who  wants 
the  Lord's  only  day  for  himself !  —  for  liimself,  Mr.  Suther- 
land !  " 

Hugh  made  no  answer,  because  he  had  none  to  make. 
Again  Mrs.  Appleditch  resumed  :  — 

"  Shall  it  be  a  bargain,  Mr.  Sutherland?  Eighteen-pence 
a  lesson, —  that's  nine  shillings  a  week, —  and  begin  to- 
morrow ?  " 

Hugh's  heart  sunk  within  him,  not  so  much  with  disappoint- 
ment as  with  disgust. 

But  to  a  man  who  is  making  nothing,  the  prospect  of  earning 
ever  so  little  is  irresistibly  attractive.  Even  on  a  shilling  a 
day  he  could  keep  hunger  at  arm's  length.  And  a  beginning 
is  half  the  battle.     He  resolved. 

"  Let  it  be  a  bargain  then,  Mrs.  i^ppleditch." 

The  lady  immediately  brightened  up,  and  at  once  put  on  her 
company-manners  again,  behaving  to  him  with  great  politeness, 
and  a  sneer  that  would  not  be  hid  away  under  it.  From  this 
Hugh  suspected  that  she  had  made  a  better  bargain  than  she 
had  hoped  ;  but  the  discovery  was  now  too  late,  even  if  he  could 
have  brought  himself  to  take  advantage  of  it.  He  hated 
bargain-making  as  heartily  as  the  grocer's  wife  loved  it. 

He  very  soon  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Applcditch  to  her  husband,  "but  Mr. 
Sutherland  has  not  seen  the  drawing-room  !  " 

Hugh  wondered  what  there  could  be  remarkable  about  the 
drawing-room ;  but  he  soon  found  that  it  was  the  pride  of  Mi  s. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  335 

Appleditch's  heart.  She  abstained  from  all  use  of  it  except 
upon  great  occasions, —  when  parties  of  her  friends  canie  to 
drink  tea  with  her.  She  made  a  point,  however,  of  showing  it 
to  everybody  who  entered  the  house  for  the  first  time.  So 
Hugh  was  led  upstairs,  to  undergo  the  operation  of  being 
shown  the  drawing-room,  and  being  expected  to  be  astonished 
at  it. 

I  asked  him  what  it  was  like.  He  answered,  "  It  was  ju5t 
what  it  ought  to  be, —  rich  and  ugly.  Mr.  Appleditch,  in  his 
deacon's  uniform,  hung  over  the  fire,  and  Mrs.  Appleditch,  in 
her  wedding-dress,  ov^r  the  piano ;  for  there  was  a  piano,  and 
she  could  play  psalm-tunes  on  it  with  one  finger.  The  round 
table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  had  books  in  gilded  red  and 
blue  covers  symmetrically  arranged  all  round  it.  This  is  all  I 
can  recollect." 

Having  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  magnificence  thus  discovered 
to  him,  he  walked  hom.e,  more  depressed  at  the  prospect  of  his 
new  employment  than  he  could  have  believed  possible. 

On  his  way,  he  turned  aside  into  the  Regent's  Park,  where 
the  sight  of  the  people  enjoying  themselves  —  for  it  was  a  fine 
day  for  the  season — ^partially  dispelled  the  sense  of  living  cor- 
ruption and  premature  burial  which  he  had  experienced  all  day 
long.  He  kept  as  far  off  from  the  rank  of  open-air  preachers 
as  possible,  and  really  was  able  to  thank  God  that  all  the 
world  did  not  keep  Scotch  Sabbath, —  a  day  neither  Mosaic, 
nor  Jewish,  nor  Christian  :  not  Mosaic,  inasmuch  as  it  kills  the 
very  essence  of  the  fo-urth  commandment,  which  is  Hest, 
transmuting  it  into  what  the  chemists  would  call  a  mechanical 
mixture  of  service  and  inertia;  not  Jewish,  inasmuch  as  it  is 
ten  times  more  severe,  and  formal,  and  full  of  negations,  than 
that  of  the  Sabbatarian  Jews  reproved  by  the  Saviour  for  their 
idolatry  of  the  day  ;  and  unchristian,  inasmuch  as  it  insists, 
beyond  appeal,  on  the  observance  of  times  and  seasons,  abolished, 
as  far  as  law  is  concerned,  by  the  Avord  of  the  chief  of  the 
apostles,  and  elevates  into  an  especial  test  of  piety  a  custom 
not  even  mentioned  by  the  founders  of  Christianity  at  all, — • 
that,  namely,  of  accounting  this  day  more  holy  than  all  the  rest. 

These  last  are  but  outside  reasons  for  calling  it  unchristian. 
There  are  far  deeper  and  more  important  ones,  Avhich  cannot 
well  be  produced  here. 


836  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

It  is  not  Hugh,  however,  who  is  to  be  considered  accountable 
for  all  this,  but  the  historian  of  his  fortunes,  between  whom  and 
the  vision  of  a  Lord'^s  day  indeed,  there  arises  too  often  the 
nightraare-niemorj  of  a  Scotch  Sal)bath  ;  between  which  and 
its  cousin,  the  English  Sunday,  there  is  too  much  of  a  family 
likeness.  Tlie  grand  men  and  Avomen  whom  I  have  known  in 
Scotland  seem  to  me,  as  I  look  buck,  to  move  about  in  the 
mists  of  a  Scotch  Sabbath,  like  a  company  of  way-worn  angels 
in  the  Limbo  of  Vanity,  in  which  there  is  no  air  whereupon  to 
smite  their  sounding  wings,  that  they  may  rise  into  the  sunlight 
of  God's  presence. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

SUNDAY    EVENING. 

Now  resteth  in  my  memory  but  this  point,  which  indeed  is  the  chief  to  you  of  all 
others;  which  is  the  choice  of  what  men  you  are  to  direct  yourself  to;  for  it  is  certain 
no  vessel  can  leave  a  worse  taste  in  the  liciuor  it  contains,  than  a  wrong  teacher 
infects  an  unskilful  hearer  with  that  which  h.ardly  will  ever  out. 

But  you  may  say,  "  IldW  shall  I  get  excellent  men  to  take  p.iins 
to  speak  with  mo  ?  "  Trulj',  in  few  words,  cither  by  much  expense  or  much  humble- 
ness. —  Letter  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  to  his  brother  Hubert. 

How  many  things  which,  at  the  first  moment,  strike  us  as 
curious  coincidences,  afterward  become  so  operative  on  our 
lives,  and  so  interwoven  with  the  whole  web  of  their  histories, 
that,  instead  of  appearing  any  more  as  strange  accidents,  thoy 
assume  the  shape  of  unavoidable  necessities,  of  homely, 
ordinary,  lawful  occurrences,  as  much  in  their  own  place  as 
any  shaft  or  pinion  of  a  great  maciiine  ! 

It  was  dusk  before  Hugh  turned  his  steps  homeward.  He 
wandered  along,  thinking  of  Euphra  and  the  count  and  the 
stolen  rings.  He  greatly  desired  to  clear  himself  to  Mr.  Ar- 
nold. He  saw  that  the  nature  of  the  ring  tended  to  justify  Mr. 
Arnold's  suspicions ;  for  a  man  who  would  not  steal  for  money's 
worth  might  yet  steal  for  value  of  another  sort,  addressing  it- 
self to  some  peculiar  weakness  ;  and  Mr.  Arnold  might  have 
met  with  instances  of  this  nature  in  his  position  as  magistrate. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  837 

He  greatly  desired,  likewise,  for  Euplira's  sake,  to  have  Funk- 
elstein  in  his  power.  His  own  ring  was  beyond  recovery  ;  but 
if,  by  its  means,  he  could  hold  such  a  lash  over  him  as  would 
terrify  him  from  again  exercising  his  villanous  influences  on 
her,  he  would  be  satisfied. 

While  plunged  in  this  contemplation,  he  came  upon  two 
policemen  talking  together.  He  recognized  one  of  them  as  a 
Scotchman,  from  his  speech.  It  occurred  to  him  at  once  to  ask 
his  advice,  in  a  modified  manner ;  and  a  moment's  reflection 
convinced  him  that  it  would  at  least  do  no  harm.  He  would 
do  it.  It  was  one  of  those  resolutions  at  which  one  arrives  by 
an  arrow-flight  of  the  intellect. 

"  You  are  a  countryman  of  mine,  I  think,"  said  he,  as  soon 
as  the  two  had  parted. 

"If  ye're  a  Scotchman,  sir  —  maybe  ay,  maybe  no." 

"  Whaur  come  ye  frae,  man?  " 

"  Ou,  Aberdeen-awa." 

"  It's  mine  ain  calf-country.     And  what  do  they  ca'  ye?  " 

"  They  ca'  me  John  MacPherson." 

"My  name's  Sutherland." 

"  Eh,  man  !  It's  my  ain  mither's  name.  Gie's  a  grup  o'  yer 
han',  Maister  Sutherlan'.  Eh,  man !  "  he  repeated,  shaking 
Hugh's  hand  with  vehemence. 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Hugh,  relapsing  into  English, 
"  that  we  are  some  cousins  or  other.  It's  very  lucky  for  me  to 
find  a  relative,  for  I  wanted  some  —  advice." 

He  took  care  to  say  advice,  which  a  Scotchman  is  generally 
prepared  to  bestow  of  his  best.  Had  it  been  sixpence,  the 
cousinship  would  have  required  elaborate  proof,  before  the 
treaty  could  have  made  further  progress. 

"  Tm  fully  at  your  service,  sir." 

"  When  will  you  be  off  duty  ?  " 

"  At  nine  o'clock,  preceesely." 

"  Come  to  Number  13,  Square,  and  ask  for  me.    It's 

not  far." 

"  Wi'  pleesir,  sir,  'gin  'twar  twice  as  far." 

Hugh  would  not  have  ventured  to  ask  him  to  his  house  on 
Sunday  night,  when  no  refreshments  could  be  procured,  had  he 
not  remembered  a  small  pig  {Anglicc,  stone  bottle)  of  real 
mountain  dew,  which  he  had  carried  with  him  when  he  went 


838  DAVID    ELGraBROD. 

to  Arnstead,  and  which  had  lain  iinoiiencd  in  one  of  hig 
boxes. 

JMiss  Talbot  received  her  lodger  Avith  more  show  of  pleasure 
than  usual,  for  he  came  lap[)ed  in  the  odor  of  the  deacon's 
sanctity.  But  she  was  considerably  alarmed,  and  beyond 
measure  shocked,  when  the  policeman  called  and  requested  to 
see  him.      Sally  had  rushed  in  to  her  mistress  in  dismay. 

"  Please  'm,  there's  a  pleaceman  wants  Mr.  Sutherland. 
Oh!  lor 'm!" 

"Well,  go  and  let  Mr.  Sutherland  know,  you  stupid  girl," 
answered  her  mistress,  trembling. 

"  Oh  !  lor  'm  !  "  was  all  Sally's  reply,  as  she  vanished  to 
bear  the  aAvful  tidings  to  Hugh. 

"He  can't  have  been  housebreaking  already,"  said  Miss 
Talbot  to  herself,  as  she  confessed  afterwards.  "  But  it  may 
be  forgery  or  embezzlement.  I  told  the  poor  deluded  young 
man  that  the  way  of  transgressors  was  hard." 

"  Please,  sir,  you're  wanted,  sir."  said  Sally,  out  of  breath, 
and  pale  as  her  Sunday  apron. 

"  Who  wants  me?  "  asked  Hugh. 

"  Please,  sir,  the  pleaceman,  sir,"  ansAvered  Sally,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

Hugh  was  perfectly  bewildered  by  the  girl's  behavior,  and 
said,  in  a  tone  of  surprise  :  — 

"  Well,  show  him  up  then." 

"  Ooh  !  sir,"  said  Sally,  with  a  Plutonic  sigh,  and  began 
to  undo  the  hooks  of  her  dress;  "if  you  wouldn't  mind,  sir, 
just  put  on  my  frock  and  apron,  and  take  a  jug  in  your  hand, 
an'  the  pleaceman  '11  never  look  at  you.  I'll  take  care  of 
everything  till  you  come  back,  sir."  And  again  she  burst  into 
tears. 

Sally  was  a  great  reader  of  the  "Family  Herald,"  and 
knew  that  this  was  an  orthodox  plan  of  rescuing  a  prisoner. 
The  kindness  of  her  anxiety  moderated  the  expression  of 
Hugh's  amusement ;  and,  having  convinced  her  that  he  was  in 
no  danger,  he  easily  prevailed  upon  her  to  bring  the  policeman 
upstairs. 

Over  a  tumbler  of  toddy,  the  weaker  ingredients  of  which 
were  procured  by  Sally's  glad  connivance,  with  a  lingering 
idea  of  propitiation,  and  a  gentle  hint  that  ^^  3Iissus  mustn't 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  839 

hnoio,''  —  the  two  Scotchmen,  seated  at  opposite  corners  of  the 
fire,  had  a  long  chat.  They  began  about  the  okl  country,  and 
the  places  and  people  they  both  knew,  and  both  didn"t  know. 
If  they  had  met  on  the  shores  of  the  central  lake  of  Africa, 
they  could  scarcely  have  been  more  coutliy  together.  At 
length  Hugh  referred  to  the  object  of  his  application  to  Mac- 
Pherson. 

"  What  plan  would  you  have  me  pursue,  John,  to  get  hold 
of  a  man  in  London?" 

"I  could  manage  that  for  ye,  sir.  I  ken  maist  the  haill 
mengie  o'  the  detaictives." 

"  But  you  see,  unfortunately,  I  don't  wish,  for  particular  rea- 
sons, that  the  police  should  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"Ay!  ay!  hm  !  hm  !  I  see  brawly.  Ye'll  be  efter  a 
stray  sheep,  nae  doot  ?  ' ' 

Hugh  did  not  reply ;  so  leaving  him  to  form  any  conclusior 
he  pleased. 

"Ye  see,"  MacPherson  continued,  "it's  no  that  easy  to  a 
body  that's  no  up  to  the  trade.  Hae  ye  ony  clue  like,  to  set 
ye  spierin'  upo'  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least." 

The  man  pondered  a  while. 

"I  hae't,"  he  exclaimed  at  last.  "  What  a  fule  I  was  no  to 
think  o'  that  afore  !  Gin't  be  a  puir  bit  yow-lammie  like  'at 
ye're  efter,  I'll  tell  ye  what;  there's  ae  man,  a  countryman  'o 
our  ain,  an'  a  gentleman  forbye,  that'll  do  mair  for  ye  in  that 
way  nor  a'  the  detaictives  thegither ;  an'  that's  Robert  Fal- 
coner, Esquire.     I  ken  him  week" 

"  But  I  don't,"  said  Hugh. 

"But  111  inti'oduce  ye  till  'im.  He  bides  close  at  han' 
here :  roun'  twa  corners  jist.  An'  I'm  thinkin'  he'll  be  at 
hame  the  noo ;  for  I  saw  him  gaein'  that  get  afore  ye  cam'  up 
to  me.  An'  the  suner  we  gang,  the  better;  for  he's  no  aye  to 
be  gotten  baud  o'.     Fegs  !   he  may  be  in  Shoreditch  or  this." 

"  But  will  he  not  consider  it  an  intrusion?  " 

"  Na,  na;  there's  no  fear  o'  that.  He's  ony  man's  an'  ilka 
woman's  freen',  —  so  be  he  can  do  them  a  guid  turn  ;  but  he's 
no  for  drinkin'  and  daffin'  an'  that.  Come  awa',  Maister  Suth- 
erlan',  he's  yer  verra  man." 

Thus  urged,  Hugh  rose  and  accompanied  the  policeman.   Ha 


340  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

took  him  round  rather  more  than  two  corners  ;  but  within  five 
minutes  thej  stood  at  Mr.  Falconer" s  door.  John  rang.  The 
door  opened  without  visible  service,  and  they  ascended  to  the 
first  floor,  which  was  enclosed  something  after  the  Scotch 
fashion.  Here  a  respectable-looking  woman  awaited  their 
ascent. 

"  Is  Mr.  Falconer  at  hom',  mem  ?  "   said  Ilugirs  guide. 

"  He  is  ;   but  I  tliink  he's  just  going  out  again." 

"Will  ye  tell  him,  mem,  'at  hoo  John  MacPherson,  the  po- 
liceman, would  like  sair  to  see  him?  " 

"I  will,"  she  answered;  and  w^ent  in,  leaving  them  at  the 
door. 

She  returned  in  a  moment,  and,  inviting  them  to  enter,  ush 
ered  them  into  a  large  bare  room,  in  which  there  was  just  light 
enou.gh  for  Hugh  to  recognize,  to  his  astonishment,  the  unmis- 
takable figure  of  the  man  Avhom  he  had  met  in  Whitechapel, 
and  whom  he  had  afterwards  seen  apparently  watching  him 
from  the  gallery  of  the  Olympic  Theatre. 
■  "  How  are  you,  MacPherson?  "  said  a  deep,  powerful  voice, 
out  of  the  gloom. 

"  Verra  weel,  I  thank  ye,  Mr.  Falconer.  PIoo  are  ye  yer- 
sel',  sir?  " 

"  Very  weel  too,  thank  you.     Who  is  with  you  ?  " 

"  It's  a  gentleman,  sir,  by  the  name  o'  Mr.  Sutherlan',  wha 
wants  your  help,  sir,  aboot  somebody  or  ither  'at  he's  enter- 
esstit  in,  wha's  disappeared." 

Falconer  advanced,  and,  bowing  to  Hugh,  said,  very  gra- 
ciously :  — 

"I  shall  be  most  happy  to  serve  Mr.  Sutherland,  if  in  my 
power.  Our  friend  MacPherson  has  rather  too  exalted  an  idea 
of  my  capabilities,  however." 

"  Weel,  Maister  Falconer,  I  only  jist  spier  at  yersel',  whether 
or  no  ye  was  ever  dung  wi'  ony thing  ye  took  in  han'." 

Falconer  made  no  reply  to  this.  There  was  the  story  of  a 
whole  life  in  his  silence  —  past  and  to  come. 

He  merely  said  :  — 

"You  can  leave  the  gentleman  with  me,  then,  John.  I'll 
take  care  of  him." 

"No  fear  o'  that,  sir.  Deil  a  bit!  though  a'  the  police- 
men i'  Lonnon  war  efter  'im." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  841 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  bringing  him." 

'■The  obligation's  mine,  sir  —  an'  the  gentleman's.  Good- 
nicht,  sir.  Good-niciit,  Mr.  Sutherlan'.  Ye '11  ken  whaur  to 
fin'  me  gin  ye  want  me.  Yon's  my  beat  for  anither  fort- 
nicht." 

"  And  you  know  my  quarters,"  said  Hugh,  shaking  him  by 
the  hand.      "  I  am  greatly  obliged  ^o  you." 

"  Not  a  bit,  sir.  Or  gin  ye  war,  ye  sud  be  hcrtily  wel- 
come." 

"Bring  candles,  Mrs.  Ashton,"  Falconer  called  from  the 
door.  Then,  turning  to  Hugh,  "  Sit  down,  Mr.  Sutherland," 
he  said,  "if  you  can  find  a  chair  that  is  not  illegally  occupied 
already.  Perhaps  we  had  better  Avait  for  the  candles.  What 
a  pleasant  day  we  have  had  !  " 

"Then  you  have  been  more  pleasantly  occupied  than  I 
have,"  thought  Hugh,  to  whose  mind  returned  the  images  of 
the  Appleditch  family  and  its  drawing-room,  followed  by  the 
anticipation  of  the  distasteful  duties  of  the  morrow.  But  he 
only  said :  — 

"  It  has  been  a  most  pleasant  day." 

"  I  spent  it  strangely,"  said  Falconer. 

Here  the  candles  were  brou2;ht  in. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  full  in  the  face.  Hugh  saw 
that  he  had  not  been  in  error.  The  same  remarkable  coun- 
tenance Avas  before  him.      Falconer  smiled. 

"  We  have  met  before,"   said  he. 

"We  have,"  said  Hugh. 

"  I  had  a  conviction  we  should  be  better  acquainted;  but  I 
did  not  expect  it  so  soon . ' ' 

"  Are  you  a  clairvoyant^  then  ?  " 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"  Or,  perhaps,  being  a  Scotchman,  you  have  the  secona 
sight  ?  " 

"I  am  hardly  Celt  enough  for  that.  But  I  am  a  sort  of 
a  seer,  after  all,  —  from  an  instinct  of  the  spiritual  relations  of 
things,  I  hope  ;   not  in  the  least  from  the  nervo-material  side." 

"  I  think  I  understand  you." 

"  Are  you  at  leisure  ?  " 

"Entirely." 

"Had  we  not  better  walk,  then?     I  have  to  go  as  far  a? 


842  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Somvirs  Town,  —  no  great  way  ;  and  we  can  talk  as  well  walk- 
ing as  sitting." 

"With  pleasure,"  answered  Hugh,  rising. 

"  Will  you  take  anything  before  you  go  ?  A  glass  of  port  ? 
It  is  the  only  wine  I  happen  to  have." 

"  Not  a  drop,  thank  you.  I  seldom  taste  anything  stronger 
than  water." 

"  I  like  that.  But  I  like  a  glass  of  port  too.  Come 
then." 

And  Falconer  rose  —  and  a  great  rising  it  was ;  for,  as 
I  have  said,  he  was  two  or  three  inches  taller  than  Hugli, 
and  much  broader  across  the  shoulders ;  and  Hugh  Avas  no 
stripling  now.  He  could  not  help  thinking  again  of  his  old 
friend,  David  Elginbrod,  to  whom  he  had  to  look  up  to  find 
the  living  eyes  of  him,  just  as  now  he 'looked  up  to  find  Fal- 
coner's. But  there  was  a  great  difference  between  those  or- 
gans in  the  two  men.  David's  had  been  of  an  ordinary  size, 
pure,  keen  blue,  sparkling  out  of  cerulean  depths  of  peace  and 
hope,  full  of  lambent  gleams  when  he  was  loving  any  one,  and 
ever  ready  to  be  dimmed  with  the  mists  of  rising  emotion.  All 
that  Hugh  could  yet  discover  of  Falconer's  eyes  was,  that  they 
were  large  and  black  as  night,  and  set  so  far  back  in  his  head 
that  each  gleamed  out  of  its  caverned  arch  like  the  reversed 
torch  of  the  Greek  Genius  of  Death  just  before  going  out  in 
night.  Either  the  frontal  sinus  was  very  large,  or  his  observ- 
ant faculties  were  peculiarly  developed. 

They  went  out,  and  walked  for  some  distance  in  silence. 
Hugh  ventured  to  say  at  length  :  — 

' '  You  said  you  had  spent  the  day  strangely  ;  may  I  ask 
how?" 

"  In  a  condemned  cell  in  Newgate,"  answered  Falconer. 
"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  going  to  such  places,  but  the  man 
wanted  to  see  me,  and  I  went." 

As  Falconer  said  no  more,  and  as  Hugh  was  afraid  of 
showing  anything  like  vulgar  curiosity,  this  thread  of  conver- 
sation broke.  Nothing  worth  recording  passed  until  they 
entered  a  narrow  court  in  Somers  Town. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  infection  ?  "  Falconer  said. 

''  Not  in  the  least,  if  there  be  any  reason  for  exposing  my- 
self to  it." 


DAVID    ELGINBRCD.  343 

"That  is  right.  And  I  need  not  ask  if  you  are  iu  good 
health." 

'■I  am  in  perfect  health." 

"  Then  I  need  not  mind  asking  you  to  wait  for  me  till  I 
come  out  of  this  house.     There  is  typhus  in  it." 

''  I  will  wait  with  pleasure.  I  will  go  with  you  if  I  can  be 
of  any  use." 

"  There  is  no  occasion.     It  is  not  your  business  this  time." 

So  sajnng,  Falconer  opened  the  door,  and  walked  in. 

Said  Hugh  to  himself,  "  I  must  tell  this  man  the  whole 
story;  and  Avith  it  all  my  own." 

In  a  few  minutes  Falconer  rejoined  him,  looking  solemn,  but 
with  a  kind  of  relieved  expression  on  his  face. 

"  The  poor  fellow  is  gone,"  said  he. 

"Ah!" 

"  What  a  thing  it  must  be,  Mr.  Sutherland,  for  a  man  to 
break  out  of  the  choke-damp  of  a  typhus  fever  into  the  clear  air 
of  the  life  beyond  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Hugh;  adding,  after  a  slight  hesitation,  "if 
he  be  at  all  prepared  for  the  change." 

"  Where  a  change  belongs  to  the  natural  order  of  things," 
said  Falconer,  "and  arrives  inevitably  at  some  hour,  there 
must  always  be  more  or  less  preparedness  for  it.  Besides,  I 
think  a  man  is  generally  prepared  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air." . 

Hugh  did  not  reply,  for  he  felt  that  he  did  not  fully  com- 
prehend his  new  acquaintance.  But  he  had  a  strong  suspicion 
that  it  was  because  he  moved  in  a  higher  region  than  himself. 

"If  you  Avill  still  accompany  me,"  resumed  Falconer,  who 
had  not  yet  adverted  to  Hugh's  object  in  seeking  his  acquaint- 
ance, ••you  will,  I  think,  be  soon  compelled  to  believe  that, 
at  whatever  time  death  may  arrive,  or  in  whatever  condition 
the  man  may  be  at  the  time,  it  comes  as  the  best  and  only  good 
that  can  at  that  moment  reach  him.  We  are,  perhaps,  too 
much  in  the  habit  of  thinking  of  death  as  the  culmination 
of  disease,  which,  regarded  only  in  itself,  is  an  evil,  and  a 
terrible  evil.  But  I  think  rather  of  death  as  the  first  pulse  of 
the  ncAV  strength,  shaking  itself  free  from  the  old  mouldy 
remnants  of  earth-garments,  that  it  may  begin  in  freedom  the 
new  life  that  grows  out  of  the  old.  The  caterpillar  dies  into 
the  butterfly.     Who  knows  but  disease  may  be  the  coming,  the 


844  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

keener  life,  breaking  into  this,  and  beginning  to  destroy  like 
fire  the  inferior  modes  or  garments  of  the  present  ?  And  then 
disease  would  be  but  the  sign  of  the  salvation  of  fire ;  of  the 
agony  of  tlic  greater  life  to  lift  us  to  itself,  out  of  tliat  where- 
in we  are  fiiliug  and  sinning.  And  so  we  praise  the  consum- 
ing fire  of  life." 

*'  But  surely  all  cannot  fare  alike  in  the  new  life." 

"  Far  from  it.  According  to  the  condition.  But  what 
Avould  be  hell  to  one  will  be  quietness,  and  hope,  and  progress 
to  another  ;  because  he  has  left  worse  behind  him,  and  in  this 
the  life  asserts  itself,  and  is.  But  perhaps  you  are  not  inter- 
ested in  such  subjects,  Mr.  Sutherland,  and  I  weary  you." 

"  If  I  have  not  been  interested  in  them  hitherto,  I  am  ready 
to  become  so  now.     Let  me  go  with  you." 

"  With  pleasure." 

As  I  have  attempted  to  tell  a  great  deal  about  Robert  Fal- 
coner and  his  pursuits  elsewliere,  I  will  not  here  relate  the 
particulars  of  their  walk  through  some  of  the  most  wretched 
parts  of  London.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  if  Hugh,  as  he 
walked  home,  was  not  yet  prepared  to  receive  and  understand 
the  half  of  what  Falconer  had  said  about  death,  and  had  not 
yet  that  faith  in  God  that  gives  as  perfect  a  peace  for  the  future 
of  our  brothers  and  sisters,  who.  alas  !  have  as  yet  been  fed 
with  husks,  as  for  that  of  ourselves,  who  have  eaten  bread  of 
the  finest  of  the  wheat,  and  have  been  but  a  little  thankful, — 
he  yet  felt  at  least  that  it  was  a  blessed  thing  that  these  men 
and  women  would  all  die  —  must  all  die.  That  spectre  from 
which  men  shrink,  as  if  it  would  take  from  them  the  last  shiv- 
ering remnant  of  existence,  he  turned  to  for  some  consolation 
even  for  them.  He  was  prepared  to  believe  that  they  could 
not  be  soins  to  worse  in  the  end.  thoujih  some  of  the  rich  and 
respectable  and  educated  might  have  to  receive  their  evil  things 
first  in  the  other  world  ;  and  he  was  ready  to  understand  that 
great  saying  of  Schiller,  —  full  of  a  faith  evident  enough  to  him 
who  can  look  far  enough  into  the  saying :  — 

"  Death  cannot  be  an  evil,  for  it  is  universal." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  345 


CHAPTER   LV. 


EUPHRA. 


SaTnson,    Oh  that  torment  should  not  bo  confined 
■To  the  body's  wounds  and  sores, 


But  must  secret  passage  find 
To  the  inmost  miud. 


Dire  inflammation,  which  no  cooling  herb 

Or  medicinal  liquor  can  assuage, 

Nor  breath  of  vernal  air  from  snowy  Alp. 

Sleep  hath  forsook  and  given  me  o'er 

To  death's  benumbing  opium  as  m}'  only  cure, 

Thence  faiutings,  swoonings  of  despair, 

And  sense  of  heaven's  desertion. 

Milton.  —  Samson  Agonistea. 

Hitherto  I  have  chiefly  followed  the  history  of  my  hero,  if 
hero  in  any  sense  he  can  yet  be  called.  Now  I  must  leave 
him  for  a  while,  and  take  up  the  story  of  the  rest  of  the  few 
persons  concerned  in  my  tale. 

Lady  Emily  had  gone  to  ^Madeira,  and  Mr.  Arnold  had 
followed.  Mrs.  Elton  and  Harry,  and  Margaret,  of  course, 
had  gone  to  London.     Euphra  was  left  alone  at  Arnstead. 

A  great  alteration  had  taken  place  in  this  strange  girl.  The 
servants  were  positively  afraid  of  her  now,  from  the  butler 
down  to  the  kitchen-maid.  She  used  to  go  into  violent  fits  of 
passion,  in  which  the  mere  flash  of  her  eyes  was  overpowering. 
These  outbreaks  would  be  followed  almost  instantaneously  by 
seasons  of  the  deepest  dejection,  in  which  she  would  confine 
herself  to  her  room  for  hours,  or,  lame  as  she  was,  wander 
about  the  house  and  the  Ghost's  Walk,  herself  pale  as  a  ghost, 
and  looking  meagre  and  Avretched. 

Also,  she  became  subject  to  frequent  fainting-fits,  the  first 
of  which  took  place  the  night  before  Hugh's  departure,  after 
she  had  returned  to  the  house  from  her  interview  with  him  in 
the  Ghost's  Walk.      She  was  evidently  miserable. 

For  this  misery  W'C  know  that  there  were  very  sufficient  rea- 
sons, wnthout  taking  into  account  the  fact  that  she  had  no  one 
to  fascinate  now.  Her  continued  lameness,  which  her  restless- 
ness aggravated,  likewise  gave  her  great  cause  for  anxiety. 
But  I  presume  that,  even  during  the  early  part  of  her  con- 


346  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

finement,  her  mind  had  been  thrown  back  upon  itself,  in  that 
consciousness  which  often  arises  in  loneliness  and  suffering, 
and  that  even  then  she  had  begun  to  feel  that  her  own  self 
Avas  a  worse  tyrant  than  the  count,  and  made  her  a  more 
wretched  slave  than  any  exercise  of  his  unlawful  power  could 
make  her. 

Some  natures  will  endure  an  immense  amount  of  misery  be- 
fore they  feel  compelled  to  look  thei^e  for  help  whence  all  help 
and  healing  comes.  They  cannot  believe  that  there  is  verily 
an  unseen,  mysterious  power,  till  the  world  and  all  that  is  in 
it  has  vanished  in  the  smoke  of  despair  ;  till  cause  and  effect  is 
nothing  to  the  intellect,  and  possil)le  glories  have  faded  from 
the  imagination  ;  then,  deprived  of  all  that  made  life  pleasant  or 
hopeful,  the  immortal  essence,  lonely  and  wretched  and  unable 
to  cease,  looks  up  with  its  now  unfettered  and  wakened  instinct 
to  the  source  of  its  own  life,  —  to  the  possible  God  who,  not- 
withstanding all  the  improbabilities  of  his  existence,  may  yet 
perhaps  be,  and  may  yet  perhaps  hear  his  Avretched  creature 
that  calls.  In  this  loneliness  of,  despair,  life  must  find  The 
Life;  for  joy  is  gone,  and  life  is  all  that  is  left;  it  is  com- 
pelled to  seek  its  source,  its  root,  its  eternal  life.  This  alone 
remains  as  a  possible  thing.  Strange  condition  of  despair  into 
which  the  Spirit  of  God  drives  a  man,  —  a  condition  in  which 
the  Best  alone  is  the  Possible  ! 

Other  simpler  natures  look  up  at  once.  Even  before  the 
first  pang  has  passed  away,  as  by  a  holy  instinct  of  celestial 
childhood,  they  lift  their  eyes  to  the  heavens  whence  cometh 
their  aid.  Of  this  class  Euphra  was  not.  She  belonged  to 
the  former.  And  yet  even  she  had  begun  to  look  upward,  for 
the  waters  had  closed  above  her  head.  She  betook  herself  to 
the  one  man  of  whom  she  had  heard  as  knowing  about  God. 
She  Avrote,  but  no  answer  came.  Days  and  days  passed  away, 
and  there  was  no  reply. 

"  Ah  !  just  so  !  "  she  said,  in  bitterness.  "  And  if  I  cried 
to  God  forever,  I  should  hear  no  word  of  reply.  If  he  be,  he 
sits  apart,  and  leaves  the  weak  to  be  the  prey  of  the  bad. 
What  cares  he?  " 

Yet,  as  she  spoke,  she  rose,  and,  by  a  sudden  impulse, 
threw  herself  on  the  floor,  and  cried  for  the  first  time  :  — 

"0  God,  help  me!" 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  347 

Wiis  there  voice  or  hearing  ? 

She  rose  at  least  Avith  a  little  hope,  and  with  the  feeling  that 
if  she  could  cry  to  him,  it  might  be  that  he  could  listen  to  her. 
It  seemed  natural  to  pray;  it  seemed  to  come  of  itself:  th^t 
could  not  be  except  it  was  first  natural  for  God  to  hear.  The 
foundation  of  her  own  action  must  be  in  him  who  made  her ; 
for  her  call  could  be  only  a  response  after  all. 

The  time  passed  wearily  by.  Dim,  slow  November  days 
came  on,  with  the  fall  of  the  last  brown  shred  of  those  clouds 
of  living  green  that  had  floated  betwixt  earth  and  heaven. 
Through  the  bare  boughs  of  the  overarching  avenue  of  the 
Ghost's  Vfalk,  themselves  living  skeletons,  she  could  now  look 
straight  up  to  the  blue  sky,  Avhich  had  been  there  all  the  time. 
And  she  had  begun  to  look  up  to  a  higher  heaven,  through  the 
bare  skeleton  shapes  of  life ;  for  the  foliage  of  joy  had  wholly 
vanished,  —  shall  we  say  in  order  that  the  children  of  the 
spring  might  eorae  ?  —  certainly  in  order  first  that  the  blue 
sky  of  a  deeper  peace  might  reflect  itself  in  the  hitherto  dark- 
ened water  5  of  her  soul. 

Perhaps  some  of  my  readers  may  think  that  she  had  enough 
to  repent  of  to  keep  her  from  weariness.  She  had  plenty  to 
repent  of,  no  doubt;  but  repentance,  between  the  paroxysms 
of  its  bitterness,  is  a  very  dreary  and  November-like  state  of 
the  spiritual  weather.  For  its  foggy  morningau;4ind  cheerless 
noons  cannot  believe  in  the  sun  of  spring,  soon  to  ripen  into 
the  sun  of  summer ;  and  its  best  time  is  the  night,  that  shuts 
out  the  world  and  weeps  its  fill  of  slow  tears.  But  she  was 
not  altogether  so  blameworthy  as  she  may  have  appeared.  Her 
affectations  had  not  been  altogether  false.  Slie  valued,  and  in 
a  measure  possessed,  the  feelings  for  which  she  sought  credit. 
She  had  a  genuine  enjoyment  of  nature,  though  after  a  sensu- 
ous, Keatsdike  fashion,  not  a  Wordsworth ian.  It  was  the  body, 
rather  than  the  soul,  of  nature,  that  she  loved,  —  its  beauty 
rather  than  its  truth.  Had  her  love  of  nature  been  of  the 
deepest,  she  would  have  turned  aside  to  conceal  her  emotions 
rather  than  have  held  them  up  as  allurements  in  the  eyes  of  her 
companion.  But  as  no  body  and  no  beauty  can  exist  without 
soul  and  truth,  she  who  loves  the  former  must  at  least  be  capa- 
ble of  loving  the  deeper  essence  to  which  they  owe  their  very 
existence. 


348  DAVID   ELGINBROD.  \ 

This  view  of  her  character  is  borne  out  by  her  love  of  musio 
and  her  liking  for  Hugh.  Both  were  genuine.  Had  the  lat- 
ter been  either  more  or  less  genuine  than  it  Avas,  the  task  of 
fascination  would  have  been  more  difficult,  and  its  success  less 
complete.  Whether  her  own  feelings  became  further  involved 
tlian  she  had  calculated  upon,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  surely  it  says 
something  for  her.  in  any  case,  that  she  desired  to  retain  Hugh 
as  her  friend,  instead  of  hating  him  because  he  had  been  her 
lover. 

How  glad  she  would  have  been  of  Harry  now  !  The  days 
crawled  one  after  the  other  like  weary  snakes.  She  tried  to 
read  the  New  Testament :  it  was  to  her  like  a  mouldy  chamber 
of  worm-eaten  parchments,  whose  windows  had  not  been  opened 
to  the  sun  or  the  wind  for  centuries ;  and  in  which  the  dust  of 
the  decaying  leaves  choked  the  few  beams  that  found  their  way 
through  the  age-blinded  panes. 

This  state  of  things  could  not  have  lasted  long ;  for  Euphra 
would  have  died.  It  lasted,  however,  until  she  felt  that  she 
had  been  leading  a  false,  worthless  life ;  that  she  had  been  cast- 
ing from  her  every  day  the  few  remaining  fragments  of  truth 
and  reality  that  yet  kept  her  nature  from  falling  in  a  heap  of 
helpless  ruin  ;  that  she  had  never  been  a  true  friend  to  any 
one ;  that  she  was  of  no  value,  —  fit  for  no  one's  admiration, 
no  one's  love.  She  must  leave  her  former  self,  like  a  dead 
body,  behind  her,  and  rise  into  a  purer  air  of  life  and  reality, 
else  she  would  perish  with  that  everlasting  death  which  is  the 
disease  and  corruption  of  the  soul  itself. 

To  those  who  know  anything  of  such  experiences,  it  will  not 
be  surprising  that  such  .feelings  as  these  should  be  alternated 
with  fierce  bursts  of  passion.  The  old  self  then  started  up  with 
feverish  energy,  and  writhed  for  life.  Never  any  one  tried  to 
be  better,  without,  for  a  time,  seeming  to  himself,  perhaps  to 
others,  to  be  Averse.  For  the  suffering  of  the  spirit  weakens 
the  brain  itself,  and  the  Avhole  physical  nature  groans  under  it ; 
while  the  energy  spent  in  the  effort  to  awake  and  arise  from 
ihe  dust,  leaves  the  regions  previously  guarded  by  prudence 
naked  to  the  wild  inroads  of  the  sudden  destroying  impulses 
born  of  suffering,  self-Jckness,  and  hatred.  As  in  the  deliri- 
ous patient,  they  Avould  dash  to  the  earth  whatever  comes  first 
within  reach;  as  if  the  thing  first  perceived,  and  so  (by  percep- 


DAVID    ELGIxN'BROD.  849 

tion  alone)  brought  into  cont;ict  with  the  suffering,  ^vere  the 
cause  of  all  the  distress. 

One  day  a  letter  arrived  for  her.  She  had  had  nc  letter 
from  any  one  for  weeks.  Yet,  when  she  saw  the  direction,  she 
flung  it  from  her.  It  was  from  INIrs.  Elton,  Avhom  she  disliked, 
because  she  found  her  utterly  uninteresting  and  very  stupid. 

Poor  Mrs.  Elton  laid  no  claim  to  the  contraries  of  these  ep- 
ithets. But  in  proportion  as  she  abjured  thought  she  claimed 
speech,  both  by  word  of  moutli  and  by  letter.  AVhy  not? 
There  was  nothing  in  it.  She  considered  reason  as  an  awful 
enemy  to  the  soul,  and  obnoxious  to  God,  especially  when  ap- 
plied to  find  out  what  he  means  when  he  addresses  us  as  rea- 
sonable creatures.  But  speech  ?  There  was  no  harm  in  that. 
Perhaps  it  was  some  latent  conviction  that  this  power  of  speech 
was  the  chief  distinction  between  herself  and  the  lower  animals 
that  made  her  use  it  so  freely,  and  at  the  same  time  open  her 
purse  so  liberally  to  the  Hospital  for  Orphan  Dogs  and  Cats* 
Had  it  not  been  for  her  own  dire  necessity,  the  fact  that  Mrs. 
Elton  was  religious  would  have  been  enough  to  convince  Euphra 
that  there  could  not  possibly  be  anything  in  religion. 

The  letter  lay  unopened  till  next  day,  —  a  fact  easy  to  ac- 
count for,  improbable  as  it  may  seem;  for,  besides  writing  as 
largely  as  she  talked,  and  less  amusingly,  because  more  cor- 
rectly, Mrs.  Elton  wrote  such  an  indistinct,  though  punctil- 
iously ne;it,  hand,  that  the  reading  of  a  letter  of  hers  involved 
no  small  amount  of  labor.  But  the  sun  shining  out  next 
morning,  Euphra  took  courage  to  read  it  while  drinking  her 
coffee,  although  she  could  not  expect  to  make  that  ceremony 
more  pleasant  thereby.  It  contained  an  invitation  to  visit  Mrs. 
Elton  at  her  house  in Street,  Hyde  Park,  with  the  assur- 
ance that,  now  that  everything  was  arranged,  they  had  plenty 
of  room  for  her.  Mrs.  Elton  was  sure  she  must  be  lonely  at 
Arnstead;  and  Mrs.  Horton  could,  no  doubt,  be  trusted^ and 
so  on. 

Had  this  letter  arrived  a  few  weeks  earlier,  Euphra  would 
have  infused  into  her  answer  a  skilful  concoction  of  delicate 
contempt;  not  for  the  amusement  of  knowing  that  Mrs.  Elton 
would  never  discover  a  trace  of  it,  but  simply  for  a  relief  to 
her  own  dislike.  Now,  she  would  have  written  a  plain  letter, 
containing  as  brief  and  as  true  an  excuse  as  she  could  find,  had 


350  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

it  not  been  that,  enclosed  in  Mrs.  Elton's  note  she  found  an- 
other, which  ran  thus  :  — 

"  Dear  Eupura  :  —  Do  come  and  see  us.  I  "do  not  like  London  at  all 
without  you.  There  arc  no  happy  days  here  like  tliose  we  had  at  Arn- 
.stead  witii  Mr.  Suth(M-huid.  Mrs.  Elton  and  Margaret  ai'c  very  kind  to 
inc.     But  I  wish  you  would  come.     Do,  do.  do.     Please  do. 

"Your  aOectionate  cousin, 

"Harry  Arnold." 

"  The  dear  boy!  "  said  Euphra,  with  a  gush  of  pure  and 
grateful  affection  ;    "I  will  go  and  see  him.'''' 

Harry  had  begun  to  work  with  his  masters,  and  was  doing 
his  best,  which  was  very  good.  If  his  heart  was  not  so  much 
in  it  as  when  lie  Avas  studying  with  his  big  brother,  he  gained 
a  great  benefit  from  the  increase  of  exercise  to  his  will,  in  the 
doing  of  what  was  less  pleasant.  Ever  since  Hugh  had  given 
his  faculties  a  right  direction,  and  aided  him  by  healthful, 
manly  sympathy,  he  had  been  making  up  for  the  period  during 
which  childhood  had  been  protracted  into  boyhood  ;  and  now 
he  was  making  rapid  progress. 

When  Euphra  arrived,  Ha)ry  rushed  to  the  hall  to  meet 
her.  She  took  him  in  her  arms,  and  burst  into  tears.  Her 
tears  drew  forth  his.     He  stroked  her  pale  face,  and  said  :  — 

"  Dear  Euphra,  how  ill  you  look  !  " 

"  I  shall  soon  be  better  now,  Harry." 

"  I  was  afraid  you  did  not  love  me,  Euphra ;  but  now  I  am 
sure  you  do." 

'•  Indeed  I  do.  I  am  very  sorry  for  everything  that  made 
you  think  I  did  not  love  you." 

"  No,  no.  It  was  all  my  fancy.  Now  we  shall  be  very 
happy." 

And  so  Harry  was.  And  Euphra,  through  means  of 
Harry,  began  to  gain  a  little  of  what  is  better  than  most  kinds 
of  happiness,  because  it  is  nearest  to  the  best  happiness,  —  I 
mean  2^^'^<'Ce.  Tiiis  foretaste  of  rest  came  to  her  from  the 
devotedness  Avith  which  she  now  applied  herself  to  aid  the 
intellect,  which  she  had  unconsciously  repressed  and  stunted 
before.  She  took  Harry's  books  Avhcn  he  had  gone  to  bed, 
and  read  over  all  his  lessons,  that  she  might  be  able  to  assist 
him  in  preparing  them ;  venturing  thus  into  some  regions  of 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  351 

labor  into  which  ladies  are  too  seldom  conducted  by  those  who 
instruct  them.  This  produced  in  her  quite  new  experiences. 
One  of  these  was,  that  in  proportion  as  she  labored  for  Harrj, 
hope  grew  for  herself.  It  was  likewise  of  the  greatest  imme- 
diate benefit  tliat  the  intervals  of  thought,  instead  of  lying 
vacant  to  melancholy,  or  the  vapors  that  sprung  from  the 
foregoing  strife  of  the  spiritual  elements,  should  be  occupied 
by  healthy  mental  exercise. 

Still,  however,  she  was  subject  to  gi'eat  vicissitudes  of  feel- 
ing. A  kind  of  peevishness,  to  which  she  had  formerly  been 
a  stranger,  was  but  too  ready  to  appear,  even  Avhen  she  was 
most  anxious,  in  her  converse  with  Harr3'-,  to  behave  well  to 
him.  But  the  pure  forgiveness  of  the  boy  was  wonderful. 
Instead  of  plaguing  himself  to  find  out  the  cause  of  her 
behavior,  or  resenting  it  in  the  least,  he  only  labored,  by 
increased  attention  and  submission,  to  remove  it ;  and  seemed 
perfectly  satisfied  when  it  was  folloAved  by  a  kind  word,  which 
to  him  was  repentance,  apology,  amends,  and  betterment,  all 
in  one.  When  he  had  thus  driven  away  the  evil  spirit,  there 
was  Euphra  her  own  self  So  perfectly  did  she  see,  and  so 
thorouglily  appreciate,  this  kindness  and  love  of  Harry,  that 
he  began  to  look  to  her  like  an  angel  of  forgiveness,  come  to 
live  a  boy's  life,  that  he  might  do  an  angel's  work. 

Her  health  continued  very  poor.  She  suffered  constantly 
from  more  or  less  headache,  and  at  times  from  faintings.  But 
she  had  not  for  some  time  discovered  any  signs  of  somnambu- 
lism. 

Of  this  peculiarity  her  friends  were  entirely  ignorant.  The 
occasions,  indeed,  on  which  it  had  manifested  itself  to  an 
excessive  decree  had  been  but  few. 


852  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER   LVI. 

THE    NEW    PUPILS. 


Think  you  a  little  din  can  daunt  mine  ears? 
Uavo  I  not  in  my  time  hoard  lions  roar  ? 


And  do  you  tell  inc  of  a  woman's  tongue, 
That  gives  not  liajf  so  great  a  blow  to  hear, 
As  will  a  chestnut  in  a  farmer's  fire  ? 
Tush!  tush!  fear  boys  with  bugs. 

Taming  of  the  Shrew. 

Dtjring  the  whole  of  his  first  interview  with  Falconer, 
which  iasted  so  long  that  he  had  been  glad  to  make  a  bed  of 
Falconer's  sofa,  Hugh  never  once  referred  to  the  object  for 
which  he  had  accepted  MacPherson's  proffered  introduction; 
nor  did  Falconer  ask  him  any  questions.  Hugh  was  too  much 
interested  and  saddened  by  the  scenes  through  which  Falconer 
led  him,  not  to  shrink  from  speaking  of  anything  less  impor- 
tant; and  with  Falconer  it  was  a  rule,  a  principle  almost, 
never  to  expedite  utterance  of  any  sort. 

In  the  morning,  feeling  a  little  good-natured  anxiety  as  to 
his  landlady's  reception  of  him^  Hugh  made  some  allusion  to 
it,  as  he  sat  at  his  new  friend's  breakfast-table. 

Falconer  said :  — 

"  What  is  your  landlady's  name?  '' 

"  Miss  Talbot." 

"  Oh,  little  Miss  Talbot?  You  are  in  good  quarters,  —  too 
good  to  lose,  I  can  tell  you.  Just  say  to  Miss  Talbot  that 
you  were  with  me." 

"You  know  her  then?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  You  seem  to  know  everybody." 

"  If  I  have  spoken  to  a  person  once,  I  never  forget  him." 

"  That  seems  to  me  very  strange." 

"  It  is  simple  enough.  The  secret  of  it  is,  that,  as  far  as  I 
can  help  it,  I  never  have  any  merely  business  relations  with 
any  one.  I  try  always  not  to  forget  that  there  is  a  deeper 
relation  between  us.  I  commonly  succeed  worst  in  a  drawing- 
room  ;  yet  even  there,  for  the  time  we  are  together,  I  try  to 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  353 

recognize  the  present  humanity,  however  much  distorted  or 
concealed.  The  consequence  is,  I  never  forget  anybody ;  and 
I  generally  find  that  others  remember  me,  —  at  least  those  with 
whom  I  have  had  any  real  relations,  springing  from  my  need 
or  from  theirs.  The  man  who  mends  a  broken  chair  for  you, 
or  a  rent  in  your  coat,  renders  3^ou  a  human  service;  and,  in- 
virtue  of  that,  comes  nearer  to  your  inner  self  than  nine- 
tenths  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen,  whom  you  meet  only  in 
Avhat  is  called  society,  are  likely  to  do." 

"  But  do  you  not  find  it  awkward  sometimes?  '' 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  am  never  ashamed  of  knowing  any 
one  ;  and,  as  I  never  assume  a  familiarity  that  does  not  exist,  X 
never  find  it  assumed  towards  me." 

Hugh  found  the  advantage  of  Falconer's  sociology  when  he 
mentioned  to  Miss  Talbot  that  he  had  been  his  guest  that 
night. 

"You  should  have  sent  us  word.  Mr.  Sutherland,"  was  al> 
Miss  Talbot's  reply. 

"I  could  not  do  so  before  you  must  have  been  all  in  bed. 
I  was  sorry,  but  I  could  hardly  help  it." 

Miss  Talbot  turned  away  into  the  kitchen.  The  only  other 
indication  of  her  feeling  in  the  matter  was,  that  she  sent  him 
up  a  cup  of  delicious  chocolate  for  his  lunch,  before  he  set 
out  for  Mr.  Appleditch's,  where  she  had  heard  at  the  shop 
that  he  was  going. 

My  reader  must  not  be  left  to  fear  that  I  am  about  to  give  a 
detailed  account  of  Hugh's  plans  with  these  unpleasant  little 
immortals,  whose  earthly  nature  sprang  from  a  pair  whose 
religion  consisted  chiefly  in  negations,  and  whose  main  duty 
seemed  to  be  to  make  money  in  small  sums,  and  spend  it  in 
smaller.  When  he  arrived  at  Buccleuch  Crescent,  he  was 
shown  into  the  dining-room,  into  which  the  boys  were  sepa- 
rately dragged^  to  receive  the  first  instalment  of  the  mental 
legacy  left  them  by  their  ancestors.  But  the  legacy-duty 
was  so  heavy  that  they  would  gladly  have  declined  paying  it 
even  with  the  loss  of  the  legacy  itself;  and  Hugh  was  dis- 
mayed at  the  impossibility  of  interesting  them  in  anything. 
He  tried  telling  them  stories  even,  Vv'ithout  success.  They 
stared  at  him,  it  is  true ;  but  whether  there  was  more  specula- 
tion in  the  open  mouths,  or  in  tlie  fisiiy,  overfed  eyes,  he  found 

23 


354  DAVID   ELOINBROD. 

it  impossible  to  determine.  He  could  not  help  feeling  the 
ricJdle  of  Providence  in  regard  to  the  birth  of  these,  much 
harder  to  read  than  that  involved  in  the  case  of  some  .of  the 
little  thieves  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made,  when  with 
Falconer,  the  evening  before.  But  he  did  his  best;  and  before 
"the  time  had  expired, — two  hours,  namely,  —  he  had  found 
out,  to  his  satisfaction,  that  the  elder  had  a  turn  for  sums,  and 
the  younger  for  drawing.  So  he  made  use  of  these  predilec- 
tions to  bribe  them  to  the  exercise  of  their  intellect  upon  less- 
favored  branches  of  human  accomplishment.  He  found  the 
plan  operate  as  well  as  it  could  have  been  expected  to  operate 
upon  such  material. 

But  one  or  two  little  incidents,  relating  to  his  intercourse 
with  Mrs.  Appleditch,  I  must  not  omit.  Though  a  mother's 
love  is  more  ready  to  purify  itself  than  most  other  loves,  yet 
there  is  a  class  of  mothers  whose  love  is  only  an  extended, 
scarcely  an  expanded,  selfishness.  Mrs.  Appleditch  did  not  in 
the  least  love  her  children  because  they  were  children,  and 
children  committed  to  her  care  by  the  Father  of  all  children ; 
but  she  loved  them  dearly  because  they  were  her  children. 

One  (lay  Hugh  gave  ]Master  Appleditch  a  smart  slap  across 
the  fingers,  as  the  ultimate  resource.  The  child  screamed  as 
he  well-  knew  hov;.     His  mother  burst  into  the  room. 

"  Johnny,  hold  your  tongue  !  " 

"  Teacher's  been  and  hurt  me." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  I  say.  My  head's  like  to  split.  Get 
out  of  the  room,  you  little  ruffian  !  " 

She  seized  him  by  the  shoulders,  and  turned  him  out,  ad- 
ministering a  box  on  his  ear  that  made  the  room  ring.  Then 
turning  to  Hugh  :  — 

"Mr.  Sutherland,  how  c/are  you  strike  my  child?"  she 
demanded. 

"He  required  it,  Mrs.  Appleditch.  I  did  him  no  harm. 
He  will  mind  what  I  say  anotlier  time." 

"I  will  not  have  him  touched.  It's  disgraceful.  To  strike 
a  child!" 

Shi  belonged  to  that  class  of  humane  parents  who  consider 
it  cruel  to  inflict  any  corporal  suffering  upon  children,  except 
they  do  it  themselv^es,  and  in  a  passion.  Johnnie  behaved 
better  after  this,  however  ;  and  the  only  revenge  Mrs.  Apple- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  355 

ditch  took  for  this  interference  with  the  dignity  of  her  eldest- 
born,  and,  consequently,  with  her  own  as  hi^j  mother,  was, 
that  —  with  the  view,  probably,  of  impressing  upon  Hugh  a 
due  sense  of  the  menial  position  he  occupied  in  her  family  — 
she  always  paid  him  his  fee  of  one  shilling  and  sixpence  every 
day  before  he  left  the  house.  Once  or  twice  she  contrived 
accidentally  that  the  sixpence  siiould  be  in  coppers.  Hugh 
was  too  much  of  a  philosopher,  however,  to  mind  this  from 
such  a  woman.  I  am  afraid  he  rather  enjoyed  her  sinte  ;  for 
he  felt  it  did  not  touch  him,  seeing  it  could  not  be  less  honora- 
ble to  be  paid  by  the  day  than  by  the  quarter  or  by  the  year. 
Certainly  the  coppers  were  an  annoyance  ;  but  if  the  coppers 
could  be  carried,  the  annoyance  could  be  borne.  The  real 
disgust  in  the  affair  Avas,  that  he  had  to  meet  and  speak  with 
a  woman  every  day,  for  whom  ho  could  feel  nothing  but  con- 
tempt and  aversion.  Hugh  was  not  yet  able  to  mingle  with 
these  feelings  any  of  the  leaven  of  that  charity  which  they 
.  need  most  of  all  who  are  contemptible  in  the  eyes  of  their 
fellows.  Contempt  is  murder  committed  by  the  intellect,  as 
hatred  is  murder  committed  by  the  heart.  Charity,  having 
life  in  itself,  is  the  opposite  and  destroyer  of  contempt  as  well 
as  of  hatred. 

After  this,  nothing  went  amiss  for  some  time.  But  it  Avas 
very  dreary  work  to  teach  such  boys, —  for  the  younger  came 
in  for  the  odd  sixpence.  Slow,  stupid  resistance  appeared  to 
be  the  only  principle  of  their  behavior  towards  him.  They 
scorned  the  man  whom  their  mother  despised  and  valued  for 
the  self-same  reason,  namely,  that  he  was  cheap.  They  would 
have  defied  him  had  they  dared,  but  he  managed  to  establish 
an  authority  over  them  —  and  to  increase  it..  Still,  he  could 
not  rouse  them  to  any  real  interest  in  their  studies.  Indeed, 
they  were  as  near  being  little  beasts  as  it  was  possible  for 
children  to  be.  Their  eyes  grew  dull  at  a  story-book,  but 
greedily  bright  at  the  sight  of  bulls'  eyes  or  toffee.  It  was  the 
same  day  after  day,  till  he  was  sick  of  it.  No  doubt  they 
made  some  progress,  but  it  was  scarcely  perceptible  to  him. 
Through  fog  and  fair,  through  frost  and  snow,  through  wind 
and  rain,  he  trudsicd  to  that  wretched  house.  No  one  minds 
the  weather. — no  young  Scotchman,  at  least,  —  where  any 
pleasure  waits  the  close  of  the  struggle;   to  fight  his  way  to 


356  DAVID   ELGINBllOD. 

misery  was  more  than  he  could  avcII  endure.  Bat  his  deliver- 
ance was  nearer  than  he  expected.  It  was  not  to  come  just 
yet,  however. 

All  went  on  with  frightful  sameness,  till  sundry  doubtful 
symptoms  of  an  alteration  in  the  personal  appearance  of  Hugh 
havinii;  accumulated  at  last  into  a  mass  of  evidence,  forced  the 
conviction  upon  the  mind  of  the  grocer's  wife  that  her  tutor 
Avas  actually  growing  a  beard.  Could  she  believe  her  eyes  ? 
She  said  she  could  not.  But  she  acted  on  their  testimony 
notwithstanding ;  and  one  day,  suddenly  addressing  Hugh,  said, 
in  her  usual  cold,  thin,  cutting  fashion  of  speech  :  — 

"Mr.  Sutherland,  I  am  astonished  and  grieved  that  you,  a 
teacher  cf  babes,  who  should  set  an  example  to  them,  should 
disguise  yourself  in  such  an  outlandish  figure." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Appleditch?"  asked  Hugh,  who, 
though  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  follow  the  example  of 
Falconer,  yet  felt  uncomfortable  enough,  during  the  transition 
period,  to  know  quite  Avell  Avhat  she  meant. 

"  What  do  I  mean,  sir?  It  is  a  shame  for  a  man  to  let  his 
beard  grow  like  a  monkey." 

"But  a  monkey  hasn't  a  beard,"  retorted  Hugh,  laughing. 
"  Man  is  the  only  animal  who  has  one." 

This  assertion,  if  not  quite  correct,  was  approximately  so, 
and  went  much  nearer  the  truth  than  Mrs.  Appleditch's 
argument. 

"  It's  no  joking  matter,  Mr.  Sutherland,  with  my  two 
darlings  growing  up  to  be  ministers  of  the  gospel." 

"  What !  both  of  them  ?  "  thought  Hugh.  "  Good  heavens  ! " 
But  he  said  :  — 

"  Well,  but  .you  know,  Mrs.  Appleditch,  the  apostles 
themselves  wore  beards." 

"  Yes,  when  they  were  Jews.  But  who  would  have  believed 
them  if  they  had  preached  the  gospel  like  old  clothesmen? 
No,  no,  Mr.  Sutherland,  I  see  through  all  that.  My  own 
uncle  was  a  preacher  of  the  word.  As  soon  as  the  apostles 
became  Christians,  they  shaved.  It  was  the  sign  of  Christi- 
anity. The  Apostle  Paul  himself  says  that  cleanliness  is  next 
to  godliness." 

Hugh  restrained  his  laughter,  and  shifted  his  ground, 

"But  there  is  nothing  dirty  about  them,"  he  said. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  357 

"  Not  dirtj?  Now  really,  Mr.  Sutherland,  you  provoke 
me.  Nothing  dirty  in  long  hair  all  round  your  mouth,  and 
going  into  it  every  spoonful  you  take  ?  " 

"  But  it  can  be  kept  properly  trimmed,  you  know.'" 

"But  who's  to  trust  you  to  do  that?  No,  no,  Mr. 
Sutherland  ;  you  must  not  make  a  guy  of  yourself." 

Hudi  lauo-hed,  and  said  nothino;.  Of  course  his  beard 
would  go  on  growing,  for  he  could  not  help  it. 

So  did  Mrs.  Appleditch's  wrath. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 


CONSULTATIONS. 


Wo  keine  Gottor  sind,  walten  Gespenster. 

NovALis.  —  Die  Christenheit 
Where  gods  are  not,  spectres  rule. 

Eia  Charakter  ist  ein  vollkommen  gebildeter  Wille. 

NoVALIS.  —  Moraliache  Ansichten. 
A  character  is  a  perfectly  formed  will. 

It  was  not  long  before  Hugh  repeated  his  visit  to  Falconer. 
He  was  not  at  home.  He  went  again  and  again,  but  still 
failed  in  finding  him.  The  day  after  the  third  failure,  how- 
ever, he  received  a  note  from  Falconer,  mentioning  an  hour  at 
which  he  would  be  at  home  on  the  followino;  evenino;.  Huo-h 
went.     Falconer  was  waiting  for  him. 

"I  am  very  sorry.      I  am  out  so  much,"  said  Falconer. 

"I  ought  to  have  taken  the  opportunity  when  I  had  it," 
replied  Hugh.  "I  want  to  ask  your  help.  May  I  begin  at 
the  beginning,  and  tell  you  all  the  story?  or  must  I  epitomize 
and  curtail  it?" 

"Be  as  diffuse  as  you  please.  I  shall  understand  the  thing 
the  better." 

So  Hugh  began,  and  told  the  whole  of  his  history,  in  as  far 
as  it  bore  upon  the  story  of  tiie  'crystal.  He  ended  with  the 
words :  — 

"  I  trust,  Mr.  Falconer,  you  will  not  think  that  it  is  from  a 
love  of  talking  that  I  have  said  so  much  about  this  affair." 


358  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

"  Certainlj  not.  It  is  a  remarkable  storj.  I  will  think 
what  can  be  done.  Meantime  I  will  keep  my  eves  and  ears 
open.     I  lY.zy  find  the  fellow.     Tell  me  what  he  is  like." 

Hugh  gave  as  minute  a  description  of  the  count  as  he  could. 

"I  think  I  see  the  man,"  said  Falconer.  "I  am  pretty 
Bure  I  shall  recognize  him." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  what  he  could  want  with  the  ring?  " 

"It  is  one  of  the  curious  coincidences  which  are  alway; 
happening,"  answered  Falconer,  "that  a  ncAvspaper  of  thii. 
very  day  would  have  enabled  me,  without  any  previous  knowl- 
edge of  similar  facts,  to  give  a  probably  correct  suggestion  aa 
to  his  object.     But  you  can  judge  for  yourself" 

So  saying,  Falconer  went  to  a  side-table,  heaped  up  with 
books  and  papers,  maps,  and  instruments  of  various  kinds,  ap- 
parently in  triumphant  confusion.  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  notwithstanding,  he  selected  the  paper  he  wanted, 
and  handed  it  to  Hugh,  who  read  in  it  a  letter  to  the  editor, 
of  which  the  following  is  a  portion  :  — 

"I  have  for  over  thirty  years  been  in  the  habit  of  investigating 
the  question  by  means  of  crystals.  And  since  18 — ,  I  have 
possessed  the  celebrated  crystal,  once  belonging  to  Lady 
Blcssington,  in  which  very  many  persons,  both  children  and 
adults,  have  seen  visions  of  the  spirits  of  the  deceased,  or  of 
beings  claiming  to  be  such,  and  of  numerous  angels  and  other 
beings  of  the  spiritual  Avorld.  These  have  in  all  cases  supported 
the  purest  and  most  liberal  Christianity.  The  faculty  of  seeing 
in  the  crystal  I  have  found  to  exist  in  about  one  person  in  ten 
among  adults,  and  in  nearly  nine  in  every  ten  among  children; 
many  of  whom  appear  to  lose  the  faculty  as  they  grow  to  adult 
age,  unless  they  practise  it  continually." 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Hugh,  pausing,  "that  this  can  be  a 
veritable  paper  of  to-day?  Are  there  people  to  believe  such 
things?" 

"There  are  more  fools  in  che  world,  Mr.  Sutherland,  than 
there  are  crystals  in  its  mountains." 

Hugh  resumed  his   readins;.     He   came    at  leno-th  to  this 

o  o  o 

passage  :  — 

"  The  spirits  —  which  I  feel  certain  they  are  —  which  appear, 
do  not  hesitate  to  inform  us  on  all  possible  subjects  which  may 
tend  to   improve   our   morals,  and    confirm  our  faith   in   thfi 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  859 

Christian  doctrines The  character  thej  give  of  the 

class  of  spirits  who  are  in  the  habit  of  communicating  with 
mortals  by  rapping  and  such  proceedings,  is  such  that  it  behoves 
ftll  Christian  people  to  be  on  their  guard  against  error  and 
delusion  throuiih  their  means." 

Hugh  had  read  this  passage  aloud. 

"Is  not  that  a  comfort,  now,  Mr.  Sutherland?"  said 
Falconer.  "For  in  all  the  reports  which  I  have  seen  of  the' 
religious  instruction  communicated  in  that  highly  articulate 
manner,  Calvinism,  high  and  low,  has  predominated.  I 
strongly  suspect  the  crystal  phantoms  of  Arminianism.  though. 
Fancy  the  old  disputes  of  infant  Christendom  perpetuated 
amongst  the  paltry  ghosts  of  another  realm  !  ' ' 

"  But,"  said  Hugli,   "  I  do  not  quite  see  how  this  is  to  help 
me  as  to  the  count's  object  in  securing  the  ring ;  for  certainly, 
however  deficient    he  may  be  in    such  knowledge,   he  is  not. 
likely  to  have  committed  the  theft  for  the  sake  of  instruction 
in  the  doctrines  of  the  sects." 

"  No.  But  such  a  crystal  might  be  put  to  other,  not  to  say 
better,  uses.  Besides,  Lady  Blessing-ton's  crystal  might  be  a 
pious  crystal;  and  the  other  which  belonged  to  Lady  —  " 

"Lady  Euphrasia." 

"  To  Lady  Euphrasia,  might  be  a  worldly  crystal  altogether. 
This  might  reveal  demons  and  their  counsels,  while  that  was 
haunted  by  theological  angels  and  evangelical  ghosts." 

^'Ah!  I  see.  I  should  have  thought,  however,  that  the 
count  had  been  too  much  of  a  man  of  the  world  to  believe  such 
things." 

"  He  might  find  his  account  in  it.  notwithstanding.  But  no 
amount  of  world-wisdom  can  set  a  man  above  the  inroads  of 
superstition.  In  foct,  there  is  but  one  thing  that  can  free  a 
man  from  superstition,  and  that  is  belief.  All  history  proves 
it.  The  most  sceptical  have  ever  been  the  most  credulous. 
This  is  one  of  the  best  arguments  for  the  existence  of  something 
to  believe." 

"  You  remind  me  of  a  passage  in  my  story  which  I  omitted, 
as  irrelevant  to  the  matter  in  hand." 

"  Do  let  me  have  it.     It  cannot  fail  to  interest  me." 

Hugh  gave  a  complete  account  of  the  experiments  they  had 
made  with  the  careering  plate.     Now  the  writing  of  the  name 


360  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

of  '■'  David  Elginbrod  "  was  the  most  remarkable  phenomenon 
of  the  wliolo,  and  Hugh  was  compelled,  in  responding  to  the 
natural  interest  of  Falconer,  to  give  a  description  of  David. 
This  led  to  a  sketch  of  his  own  sojourn  at  Turriepuffit ;  in 
wiiich  the  character  of  David  came  out  far  more  plainly  than 
it  could  have  come  out  in  any  description.  When  he  had 
finished.  Falconer  broke  out,  as  if  he  had  been  hitherto 
restraining  his  wrath  with  difficulty: — 

"And  that  Avas  the  man  the  creatures  dared  to  personate  ! 
I  hate  the  whole  thing,  Sutherland.  It  is  full  of  impudence 
and  irreverence.  Perhaps  the  wretched  beings  may  want 
another  thousand  years'  damnation,  because  of  the  injury  done 
to  their  character  by  the  homage  of  men  who  ought  to  know 
better." 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  you." 

"I  mean,  that  you  ought  to  believe  as  easily  that  such  a 
man  as  you  describe  is  laughing  with  the  devil  and  his  angels, 
as  that  he  wrote  a  copy  at  the  order  of  a  charlatan,  or  worse." 

"  But  it  could  hardly  be  deception." 

"Not  deception?  A  man  like  him  could  not  get  through 
them  without  being  recognized." 

"  I  don't  understand  you.     By  whom  ?  " 

"  By  swarms  of  low,  miserable  creatures  that  so  lament  the 
loss  of  their  beggarly  bodies  that  they  would  brood  upon  them 
in  the  shape  of  flesh-flies,  rather  than  forsake  the  putrefjnng 
remnants.  After  that,  chair,  or  table,  or  anything  that  they 
can  come  into  contact  with,  possesses  quite  sufficient  organiza- 
tion for  such.  Don't  you  remember  that  once,  rather  than 
have  nobody  to  go  into,  they  crept  into  the  very  swine? 
There  was  a  fine  passion  for  self-embodiment  and  sympathy  ! 
But  the  swine  themselves  could  not  stand  it,  and  preferred 
drowning." 

"  Then  you  do  think  there  was  something  supernatural  in 
it?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  least.  It  required  no  supernatural  powers 
to  be  aAvare  that  a  great  man  Avas  dead,  and  that  you  had 
known  him  well.  It  annoys  me,  Sutherland,  that  able  men, 
ay,  and  good  men  too,  should  consult  Avith  ghosts  whose  only 
possible  superiority  consists  in  their  being  out  of  the  body. 
Why  should  they  be  the  wiser  for  that?     I  should  as  soon 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  861 

expect  to  gain  wisdom  by  taking  off  mj  clothes,  and  to  lose 
it  hy  getting  into  bed ;  or  to  rise  into  the  seventh  heaven  of 
spirituality  by  having  my  hair  cut.  An  impudent  forgery 
of  that  good  man's  name  !  If  I  were  you,  Sutherland,  I 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  a  low  set  They  are  the 
canaille  of  the  other  world.  It's  of  no  use  to  lay  hold  on 
their  skirts,  for  they  can't  fly.  They're  just  like  the  vultures, 
—  easy  to  catch,  because  they're  full  of  garbage.  I  doubt  if 
they  have  more  intellect  left  than  just  enough  to  lie  with.  I 
have  been  compelled  to  think  a  good  deal  about  these  things  of 
late." 

Falconer  pat  a  good  many  questions  to  Hugh,  about  Euphra 
and  her  relation  to-  the  count ;  and  such  was  the  confidence 
with  which  he  had  inspired  hnn,  that  Hugh  felt  at  perfect  lib- 
erty to  answer  them  all  fully,  not  avoiding  even  the  exposure 
of  his  own  feelings,  where  that  was  involved  by  the  story. 

"Now,"  said  Falconer,  "  I  have  material  out  of  which  to 
construct  a  t'Heory.  The  count  is  at  present  like  a  law  of 
nature  concerning  which  a  prudent  question  is  the  first  half  of 
the  answer,  ns  Lord  Bacon  says ;  and  you  can  put  no  question 
without  having  first  formed  a  theory,  however  slight  or  tempo- 
rary ;  for  oUerwise  no  question  will  suggest  itself.  But,  in 
the  mean  time,  as  I  said  before,  I  will  make  inquiry,  upon  the 
theory  that  he  is  somewhere  in  London,  although  I  doubt   it." 

"  Then  I  Will  not  occupy  your  time  any  longer  at  present," 
said  Hugh.  "  Could  you  say,  without  fettering  yourself  in 
the  least,  Avhc-n  I  might  be  able  to  see  you  again  ?  " 

"■  Let  me  see.  I  will  make  an  appointment  with  you  next 
Sunday ;  her<3,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Make  a  note 
of  it." 

"  There  is  no  fear  of  my  forgetting  it.  My  consolations  are 
not  so  numeious  that  I  can  aflbrd  to  forget  my  sole  pleasure. 
You,  I  should  think,  have  more  need  to  make  a  note  of  it  than 
I   though  I  am  quite  willing  to  be  forgotten,  if  necessary." 

"  I  never  fofget  my  engagements,"  said  Falconer. 

They  parted,  and  Hugh  went  home  to  his  novel. 


362  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 


CHAPTER  LVIIL 

» 

QUESTIONS  AND  DREAMS. 

Oii  A  certain  time  the  Lady  St.  Mary  had  commanded  the  Lord  Jesus  to  fetch  her 
Bomo  water  out  of  tlie  well  And  when  he  had  gone  to  fetch  the  water,  the  pitcher, 
when  it  was  brought  up  full,  brake.  But  Jesus,  spreading  his  mantle,  gathered  up 
the  water  again,  and  brought  it  in  that  to  his  mother. — The  First  {apochryphal) 
Gospel  of  the  Infancy  o/"  Jesus  Christ. 

Mks.  Elton  read  prajors  morning  and  evening,  —  very 
elaborate  compositions,  Avhich  would  have  instructed  the  apos- 
tles themselves  in  many  things  they  had  never  anticipated. 
But,  unfortunately,  Mrs.  Elton  must  likewise  read  certain 
remarks,  in  the  form  of  a  homily,  intended  to  impress  the 
Scripture  which  preceded  it  upon  the  minds  of  the  listeners. 
Between  the  mortar  of  the  homilists  faith,  and  the  dull  blows 
of  the  pestle  of  his  arrogance,  the  fair  form  of  truth  was 
ground  into  the  powder  of  pious  small  talk.  This  result  was 
not  pleasant  either  to  Harry  or  to  Euphra.  Euphra,  with  her 
life  threatening  to  go  to  ruin  about  her,  was  crying  out  for 
Him  who  made  the  soul  of  man,  "  who  loved  us  into  being,"  * 
and  who  alone  can  review  the  life  of  his  children  ;  and  in  such 
words  as  those  a  scoffing  demon  seemed  to  mock  at  her  needs. 
Harry  had  the  natural  dislike  of  all  childlike  natures  to 
everything  formal,  exclusive,  and  unjust.  But,  having  re- 
ceived nothing  of  what  is  commonly  called  a  religious  train- 
inr/^  this  advantage  resulted  from  his  new  experiences  in  Mrs. 
Elton's  family,  that  a  good  direction  Avas  given  to  his  thoughts 
by  the  dislike  which  he  felt  to  such  utterances.  More  than 
this  :  a  horror  fell  upon  him  lest  these  things  should  be  true  ; 
lest  the  mighty  All  of  nature  should  be  only  a  mechanism, 
without  expression  and  without  beauty ;  lest  the  God  who 
made  us  should  be  like  us  only  in  this,  that  he,  too,  was  selfish 
and  mean  and  proud ;  lest  his  ideas  should  resemble  those  that 
inhabit  the  brain  of  a  retired  money-maker,  or  of  an  arbitrary 
monarch  claiming  a  divine  right,  instead  of  towering,  as  the 
heavens  over  the  earth,  above  the  loftiest  moods  of  highest 
poetj  most   generous   child,  or  most  devoted  mother.     I  do  not 

*  Goldsmith;  twico_  in  the  "  Citizen  of  the  World." 


DAVID   ELGHNBROD.  863 

mean  that  these  thoughts  took  these  shapes  in  Harry's  mind; 
but  that  his  feelings  were  such  as  might  have  been  condensed 
into  such  thoughts,  had  his  intellect  been  more  mature. 

One  morning,  the  passage  of  Scripture  which  Mrs.  Elton 
read  Avas  the  story  of  the  young  man  who  came  to  Jesus,  and 
went  away  sorrowful,  because  the  Lord  thought  so  well  of  liim, 
and  loved  him  so  heartily,  that  he  wanted  to  set  him  free  from 
his  riches.  A  great  portion  of  the  homily  was  occupied  with 
proving  that  the  evangelist  could  not  possibly  mean  that  Jesus 
loved  the  young  man  in  any  pregnant  sense  of  the  word ;  but 
merely  meant  that  Jesus  "felt  kindly  disposed  towards  him;  " 
felt  a  poor  little  human  interest  in  him,  in  fiict,  and  did  not 
love  him  divinely  at  all. 

Harry's  face  was  in  a  flame  all  the  time  she  was  reading. 
When  the  service  was  over  —  and  a  bond  service  it  was  for 
Euphra  and  him  —  they  left  the  room  together.  As  soon  as 
the  door  was  shut,  he  burst  out :  — 

"I  say,  Euphra!  Wasn't  that  a  shame?  They  would 
have  Jesus  as  bad  as  themselves.  We  shall  have  somebody 
writing  a  book  next  to  prove  that  after  all  Jesus  was  a 
Pharisee." 

"  Nevermind,"  said  the  heart-sore,  sceptical  Euphra,  "  never 
mind,  Harry;   it's  all  nonsense." 

"  No,  it's  not  all  nonsense.  Jesus  did  love  the  young  man. 
I  believe  the  story  itself  before  all  the  Doctors  of  .Divinity  in 
the  world.  He  loves  all  of  us,  he  does  —  with  all  his  heart 
too." 

"  I  hope  so,"  was  all  she  could  reply ;  but  she  was  comforted 
by  Harry's  vehement  confession  of  faith, 

Euphra  was  so  far  softened,  or  perhaps  weakened,  by  suffer- 
ing, that  she  yielded  many  things  which  would  have  seemed 
impossible  before.  One  of  these  Avas  that  she  went  to  church 
with  Mrs.  Elton,  where  that  lady  hoped  she  would  get  good 
to  her  soul.  Harry,  of  course,  was  not  left  behind.  The\ 
church  she  frequented  was  a  fashionable  one,  with  a  vicar 
more  fashionable  still ;  for,  had  he  left  that  church,  more  than 
half  his  congregation,  which  consisted  mostly  of  ladies,  would 
have  left  it  also,  and  followed  him  to  the  ends  of  London.  He 
was  a  middle-aged  man,  with  a  rubicund  countenance,  and  a 
gentle  familiarity  of  manner,  that  was  exceedingly  pleasing  to 


364  DAVID    ELGINBTIOD. 

the  fashionable  sheep,  who,  conscious  that  thejr  had  wandered 
from  the  fohi,  were  waiting  Avith  exemphiry  patience  for  the 
barouches  and  mail-phaetons  of  the  skies  to  carrj  them  back 
Avithout  tlie  trouble  of  walking.  Alas  for  them  !  thcj  have  to 
learn  that  the  chariots  of  heaven  are  chariots  of  fire. 

The  Sunday  morning  following  the  conversation  I  have  just 
recorded,  the  clergyman's  sermon  was  devoted  to  the  illustra- 
tion of  the  greatness  and  condescension  of  the  Saviour.  After  a 
certain  amount  of  tamo  excitement  expended  upon  the  consider- 
ation of  his  power  and  kingdom,  one  i^assage  was  wound  up  in 
this  fashion :  — 

"  Yes,  my  friends,  even  her  most  gracious  Majesty,  Queen 
Victoria,  the  ruler  over  millions  diverse  in  speech  and  in  hue, 
to  whom  we  all  look  up  with  humble  submission,  and  whom 
we  acknowledge  as  our  sovereign  lady, —  even  she,  great  as  she 
is,  adds  by  her  homage  a  jewel  to  his  crown  ;  and,  hailing  him 
as  her  Lord,  bows  and  renders  him  worship  !  Yet  this  is  he 
who  comes  down  to  visit,  yea,  dwells  with  his  own  elect,  his 
chosen  ones,  whom  he  has  led  back  to  the  fold  of  his  grace." 

For  some  reason,  known  to  himself.  Falconer  had  taken 
Hugh,  who  had  gone  to  him  according  to  appointment  that 
morning,  to  this  same  church.  As  they  came  out,  Hugh 
said :  — 

"  Mr. is  quite  proud  of  the  honor  done  his  Master  by 

the  queen.", 

"I  do  not  think,"  answered  Falconer,  "that  his  Master 
will  think  so  much  of  it ;  for  he  once  had  his  feet  washed  by  a 
Avoman  that  was  a  sinner." 

The  homily  which  Mrs.  Elton  read  at  prayers  that  evening, 
bore  upon  the  same  subject  nominally  as  the  chapter  that 
preceded  it, —  tliat  of  election  :  a  doctrine  which  in  the  Bible 
asserts  the  fiict  of  God's  choosing  certain  persons  for  the  specific 
purpose  of  receiving  first,  and  so  communicating  the  gifts  of 
his  grace  to  the  whole  world  ;  but  which,  in  the  homily  referred 
to,  was  taken  to  mean  the  choice  of  certain  persons  for  ultimate 
salvation,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  rest.  They  Avere  sitting  in 
silence  after  the  close,  AAdien  Harry  started  up  suddenly, 
saying,  "I  don't  want  God  to  love  me,  if  he  does  not  love 
CA^erybody  ;  "  and,  bursting  into  tears,  hurried  out  of  the  room. 
Mrs.  Elton  was  awfully  shocked  at  his  wickedness.     Euphra 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  865 

hastened  after  him  ;  but  he  would  not  return,  and  went  supper- 
less  to  bed.  Euphra,  however,  carried  him  some  supper.  He 
sat  uj)  in  bed  and  ate  it  with  the  tears  in  his  eyes.  She  kissed 
him,  and  bade  him  good-night ;  when,  just  as  she  was  leaving 
the  room,  he  broke  out  with  :  — 

"But  only  think,  Euphra,  if  it  should  be  true!  I  would 
rather  not  have  been  made." 

"  It  is  not  true,"  said  Euphra,  in  whom  a  fliint  glimmer  of 
fjxith  in  God  awoke  for  the  sake  of  the  boj  whom  she  loved, — 
awoke  to  comfert  him,  when  it  would  not  open  its  eyes  for 
herself  "  No,  Harry  dear,  if  there  is  a  God  at  all,  he  is  not 
like  that." 

"No,  he  can't  be,"  said  Harry,  vehemently,  and  with  the 
brightness  of  a  sudden  thought;  "  for  if  he  were  like  that,  he 
wouldn't  be  a  God  worth  being ;  and  that  couldn't  be,  you 
know." 

Euphra  knelt  by  her  bedside,  and  prayed  more  hopefully 
than  for  many  days  before.  She  prayed  that  God  would  let 
her  know  that  he  was  not  an  idol  of  man's  invention. 

Till  friendly  sleep  came,  and  untied  the  knot  of  care,  both 
Euphra  and  Harry  lay  troubled  with  things  too  great  for  them. 
Even  in  their  sleep  the  care  would  gather  again,  and  body 
itself  into  dreams.  The  first  thought  that  visited  Harry  when 
he  awoke  was  the  memory  of  his  dream  ;  that  he  died  and  went 
to  heaven;  that  heaven  was  a  great  church  just  like  the  one 
Mrs.  Elton  went  to,  only  larger  ;  that  the  pews  were  filled 
with  angels,  so  crowded  togetlier  that  they  had  to  tuck  up  their 
wings  very  close  indeed  —  and  Harry  could  not  help  wondering 
what  they  wanted  them  for ;  tliat  they  were  all  singing  psalms  ; 
that  the  pulpit  by  a  little  change  had  been  converted  into  a 
throne,  on  Avhich  sat  God  the  Father,  looking  very  solemn  and 
severe  ;  that  Jesus  was  seated  in  the  reading-desk,  looking  very 
sad ;  and  that  the  Holy  Ghost  sat  on  the  clerk's  desk,  in  the 
shape  of  a  white  dove  ;  that  a  cherub,  whose  face  reminded  him 
very  much  of  a  policeman  he  knew,  took  him  by  the  shoulder 
for  trying  to  pluck  a  splendid  green  feather  out  of  an  arch- 
angel's wing,  and  led  him  up  to  the  throne,  Avhere  God  shook 
his  head  at  him  in  such  a  dreadful  way,  that  he  was  terrified, 
and  then  stretched  out  his  hand  to  lay  hold  on  him  ;  that  ho 
shrieked  with  fear ;  and  that  Jesus  put  out  his  hand  and  lifted 


366  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

him  into  the  reading-desk,  and  hid  him  down  below.  And 
there  Harry  Lay,  feeling  so  safe,  stroking  and  kissing  tht  feet 
that  had  been  weary  and  wounded  for  liim,  till,  in  the  growing 
delight  of  the  thought  that  he  actually  held  those  feet,  he  came 
awake,  and  remembered  it  all.  Trulj'',  it  was  a  childish  dream, 
but  not  without  its  own  significance.  For  surely  the  only 
refuge  from  heathenish  representations  of  God  under  Christian 
forms,  the  only  refuge  from  man's  blinding  and  paralyzing 
theories,  from  the  dead  wooden  shapes  substituted  for  the  living 
forms  of  human  love  and  hope  and  aspiration,  from  the  inter- 
pretations which  render  Scripture  as  dry  as  a  speech  in 
Chancery, —  surely  the  one  refuge  from  all  these  awful  evils  is 
the  Son  of  man  ;  for  no  misrepresentation  and  no  misconception 
can  destroy  the  beauty  of  that  face  which  the  marring  of  sorrow 
has  elevated  into  the  region  of  reality,  beyond  the  marring  of 
irreverent  speculation  and  scholastic  definition.  From  the  God 
of  man's  painting,  we  turn  to  the  man  of  God's  being,  and  he 
leads  us  to  the  true  God,  the  radiation  of  whose  glory  we  first 
see  in  him.  Happy  is  that  man  who  has  a  glimpse  of  this, 
even  in  a  dream  such  as  Harry's  !  —  a  dream  in  other  respects 
childish  and  incongruous,  but  not  more  absurd  than  the  instruc- 
tion whence  it  sprung. 

But  the  troubles  returned  with  the  day.  Prayers  revived 
them.     Pie  sought  Euphra  in  her  room. 

"  They  say  I  must  repent  and  be  sorry  for  my  sins,"  said 
he.  "I  have  been  trying  very  hard  ;  but  I  can't  think  of  any, 
except  once  that  I  gave  Gog"  (his  Welch  pony)  '-such  a 
beating,  because  he  ivould  go  where  I  didn't  want  him.  But 
he's  forgotten  it  long  ago  ;  and  I  gave  him  two  feeds  of  corn 
after  it,  and  so  somehow  I  can't  feel  very  sorry  now.  What 
sJiall  I  do?  But  that's  not  what  I  mind  most.  It  alwciys 
seems  to  me  it  would  be  so  much  grander  of  God  to  say,  '  Come 
along,  never  mind.  Ill  make  you  good.  I  can't  wait  till  you 
are  good,  I  love  you  so  much.'  " 

His  own  words  were  too  much  for  Harry,  and  he  burst  into 
tears  at  the  thought  of  God  being  so  kind.  Euphra,  instead 
of  trying  to  comfort  him,  cried  too.  Thus  they  continued  for 
some  time,  Harry  with  his  head  on  her  knees,  and  she  kindly 
fondling  it  with  her  distressed  hands.  Harry  was  the  first  to 
recover ;  for  his  was  the  April  time  of  life,  when  rain  clears 


DAVID    ELGINBROB.  367 

the   heavens.     All  at  once  he   sprung   to   his  feet,  and  ex- 
claimed :  — 

"Only  think,  Euphra  !  What  if,  after  all,  I  should  find 
out  that  God  is  as  kind  as  you  are !  " 

HoAv  Euphra's  heart  smote  her  ! 

"  Dear  Harry,"  answered  she,  "  God  must  be  a  great  deal 
kinder  than  I  am.     I  have  not  been  kind* to  you  at  all.'" 

"  Don't  say  that,  Euphra.  I  shall  be  quite  content  if  God 
is  as  kind  as  you."  , 

'•  0  Harry  !  I  hope  God  is  like  what  I  dreamed  about 
my  mother  last  night." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  dreamed  about  her,  dear  Euphra." 

"  I  dreamed  that  I  was  a  little  child  —  " 

"  Were  you  a  little  girl  when  your  mother  died?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  such  a  tiny  !     But  I  can  just  remember  her."  • 

"  Tell  me  your  dream,  then." 

"  I  dreamed  that  I  Avas  a  little  girl,  out  all  alone  on  a  wild* 
mountain-moor,  tripping  and  stumbling  on  my  night-gown. 
And  the  wind  was  so  cold  !  And,  somehow  or  other,  the  wind 
was  an  enemy  to  me,  and  it  followed  and  caught  me,  and 
whirled  and  tossed  me  about,  and  then  ran  away  agam.  Then 
I  hastened  on,  and  the  thorns  went  into  my  feet,  and  the  stones 
cut  them.  And  I  heard  the  blood  from  them  trickling  down 
the  hill-side  as  I  walked." 

"  Then  they  would  be  like  the  feet  I  saw  in  my  dream  last 
night." 

"  Whose  feet  were  they?  " 

•'Jesus'  feet." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"  You  must  finish  yours  first,  please,  Euphra." 

So  Euphra  went  on  :  — 

"I  got  dreadfully  lame.  And  the  wind  ran  after  me,  and 
caught  me  again,  and  took  me  in  his  great  blue  ghostly  arms, 
and  shook  mo  about,  and  then  dropped  me  again  to  go  on.  But 
it  was  very  hard  to  go  on,  and  I  couldn't  stop;  and  there  was 
no  use  in  stopping,  for  the  Avind  Avas  everywhere  in  a  moment. 
Then  suddenly  I  saw  before  me  a  great  cataract,  all  in  Avhite, 
falling  flash  from  a  precipice  ;  and  I  thought  Avith  myself,  '  I 
will  go  into  the  cataract,  and  it  will  beat  my  life  out,  and  then 
the  Aviud  will  not  get  me  any  more.'     So  I  hastened  towards 


368  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

it;  but  the  wind  caught  rac  many  times  before  I  got  near  it. 
At  hist  I  reached  it,  and  threw  nijself  down  into  the  basin  it 
had  hollowed  out  of  the  rocks.  But  as  I  was  falling,  something 
caught  me  gently,  and  held  me  fast,  and  it  was  not  the  wind.  1 
opencfl  my  eyes,  and  behold  !  I  Avas  in  my  mother's  arms,  and  she 
Avas  clasping  me  to  her  breast ;  for  what  I  had  taken  for  a  cataract 
falling  into  a  gulf  was  only  my  mother,  with  her  white  grave-clothes 
floating  all  about  her,  standing  up  in  her  grave,  to  look  after  me. 
•  It  was  time  you  came  homo,  my  darling,'  she  said,  and  stooped 
down  into  her  grave  with  me  in  her  arms.  And  oh  !  I  was  so 
h;ippy ;  and  her  bosom  was  not  cold,  or  her  arms  hard,  and  she 
carried  me  just  like  a  baby.  And  when  she  stooped  down, 
then  a  door  opened,  somewhere  in  the  grave,  I  could  not  find 
out  where  exactly,  and  in  a  moment  after,  We  were  sitting 
together  in  a  summer  grove,  with  the  tree-tops  steeped  in  sun- 
shine, and  waving  about  in  a  quiet,  loving  wind, —  oh,  how 
different  from  the  one  that  chased  me  home  !  —  and  we  under- 
neath in  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  And  then  I  said,  '  Mother, 
I've  hurt  my  feet.'  " 

'•Did  you  call  her  mother  when  you  were  a  little  girl?" 
interposed  Harry. 

"No,"  answered  Euphra.  "I  called  her  mamma^  like 
other  children;  but  in  my  dreams  I  always  call  her  mother.'" 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  said,  '  Poor  child  !  '  and  held  my  feet  to  her  bosom ; 
and  after  that,  when  I  looked  at  them,  the  bleeding  was  all 
gone,  and  I  was  not  lame  any  more." 

Euphra  paused  with  a  sigh. 

"  0  Harry  !   I  do  not  like  to  be  lame." 

"  What  more?  "  said  Harry,  intent  only  on  the  dream. 

'•  Oh  !  then  I  was  so  happy  that  I  woke  up  directly." 

"  What  a  pity  !      But  if  it  should  come  true?  " 

'•  How  could  it  come  true,  dear  Harry?  " 

"Vv^hy,  this  world  is  sometimes  cold,  and  the  road  is  hard,  — 
you  know  what  I  mean,  Euphra." 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  I  wish  I  could  dream  like  that !    How  clever  you  must  be  !  " 

"  But  you  dream  dreams  too,  Harry.     Tell  mo  yours," 

"  Oh,  no,  I  never  dream  dreams;  the  dreams  dream  me," 
answered  Harry,  with  a  smile. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  369 

Then  he  told  his  dream,  to  which  Euphra  listened  with  an 
interest  uninjured  by  the  grotesqueness  of  its  fancy.  Each 
interpreted  the  other's  with  reverence. 

They  ceased  talking,  and  sat  silent  for  a  while.  Then  Harry, 
putting  his  arms  round  Euphra's  neck,  and  his  lips  close  to  her 
ear,  whispered :  — 

"Perhaps  God  will  say  my  do.rlinj  to  you  some  day, 
Euphra;  just  as  your  mother  did  in  your  dream." 

She  was  silent.  Harry  looked  round  into  her  face,  and  saw 
that  the  tears  were  flowing  fast. 

At  that  instant,  a  gentle  knock  came  to  the  door.  Euphra 
could  not  reply  to  it.  It  was  repeated.  After  anpi;hei  mo- 
ment's delay  the  door  opened,  and  Margaret  walked  in. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

A    SUNDAY   WITH   FALCONER. 


How  bappy  is  lie  born  and  taugbt, 

That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 
Whoso  armor  is  his  honest  thought, 

And  simple  truth  bis  utmost  skill! 

This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands, 

Of  hope  to  rise  or  fear  to  fall : 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands, 

And,  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sib  Henry  Wotton. 


It  was  not  often  that  Falconer  went  to  church ;  but  he 
seemed  to  have  some  design  in  going  oftener  than  usual  at 
present.  The  Sunday  after  the  one  last  mentioned,  he  went 
as  well,  thouofh  not  to  the  same  church,  and,  calling  for  Huirh, 
took  him  with  him.  What  they  found  there,  and  the  conver- 
sation following  thereupQin,  I  will  try  to  relate,  because,  al' 
though  they  do  not  immediately  affect  ray  outward  story,  they 
greatly  influenced  Hugh's  real  histoiy. 

They  heard  the  Morning  Service  and  the  Litany  read  in  an 
ordinary  manner,  though  somewhat  more  devoutly  tnau  usual. 
Then,  from  the  communion-table,  rose  a  voice  vibrating  vitb 

24 


870  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Bolemn  emotion,  like  the  voice  of  Abraham  pleading  for  Sodom. 
It  thrilled  through  Hugh's  heart.  The  sermon  which  followed 
affected  him  no  less,  although,  when  he  came  out,  he  confessed 
to  Falconer  that  he  had  only  caught  fljing  glimpses  of  its 
meaning,  scope,  and  drift. 

'•I  seldom  go  to  church,"  said  Falconer;  "but  when  I  do, 
I  come  here ;  and  always  feel  that  I  am  in  the  presence  of  one 
of  the  holy  servants  of  Gods  great  temple  not  made  with 
hands.     I  heartily  trust  that  man.     He  is  what  he  seems  to  be." 

"  They  say  he  is  awfully  heterodox." 

"They  do." 

"How,  then,  can  he  remain  in  the  church,  if  he  is  as  honest 
as  you  say  ?  ' ' 

"In  this  way,  as  I  humbly  venture  to  think,"  Falconer 
answered.  "  He  looks  upon  the  formulae  of  the  church  as  utter- 
ances of  living  truth, — vital  embodiments,  —  to  be  regarded  as 
one  ouglit  to  regard  human  faces.  In  these  human  faces 
others  may  see  this  or  that  inferior  expression,  may  find  out 
the  mean  and  the  small  and  the  incomplete  ;  he  looks  for  and 
finds  the  ideal ;  the  grand,  sacred,  God-meant  meaning ;  and 
by  that  he  holds  as  the  meaning  of  the  human  countenances,  for 
it  is  the  meaning  of  Him  who  made  them.  So  with  the  confes- 
sion of  the  Church  of  England  :  he  believes  that  not  man  only, 
but  God  also,  and  God  first  and  chief,  had  to  do  with  the  mak- 
ing of  it ;  and  therefore  he  looks  in  it  for  the  Eternal  and  the 
Divine,  and  he  finds  what  he  seeks.  And  as  no  words  can 
avoid  bearing  in  them  the  possibility  of  a  variety  of  interpre- 
tations, he  would  exclude  whatever  the  words  might  mean,  or, 
regarded  merely  as  words,  do  mean,  in  a  narrow  exposition  ; 
he  thinks  it  would  be  dishonest  to  take  the  low  meaning  as  the 
meaning.  To  return  to  the  faces  :  he  passes  by  moods  and 
tempers,  and  beholds  the  main  character,  —  that  on  whose  sur- 
face the  temporal  and  transient  floats.  Both  in  faces  and  in 
formulfc  he  loves  the  divine  substance,  with  his  true,  manly, 
brave  heart;  and  as  for  the  faults  in  bath.  —  for  man,  too,  has 
his  share  in  both,  —  I  believe  he  is  reaiy  to  die  by  them,  if  only 
in  so  doing  he  might  die  for  them.  I  had  a  vision  of  him  this 
morning  as  I  sat  and  listened  to  his  voice,  which  always  seems 
to  me  to  come  immediately  from  his  heart,  as  if  his  heart  spoke 
with  lips  of  its  own.      Shall  I  tell  you  my  vision  ? 


^     DAVID   ELGINBROD.  871 

"  I  saw  a  crowd  —  priests  and  laymen  —  speeding,  hurrying, 
darting  away,  up  a  steep,  crumbling  height.  Mitres,  hoods, 
and  hats  rolled  behind  them  to  the  bottom.  Every  one  for 
himself,  with  hands  and  feet  they  scramble  and  flee,  to  save 
their  souls  from  the  fires  of  hell  which  come  rollinor  in  along 
the  hollow  below  with  the  forward  '  pointing  spires  '  of  billowy 
flame.  But  beneath,  right  in  the  course  of  the  fire,  stands 
one  man,  upon  a  little  rock  which  goes  down  to  the  centre  of 
the  great  world,  and  faces  the  approaching  flames.  He  stands 
bareheaded,  his  eyes  bright  with  faith  in  God,  and  the  mighty 
mouth  that  utters  his  truth  fixed  in  holy  defiance.  His 
denial  comes  from  no  fear,  or  weak  dislike  to  that  which  is 
painful.  On  neither  side  will  he  tell  lies  for  peace.  He  is 
ready  to  be  lost  for  his  fellow-men.  In  the  name  of  God  he 
rebukes  the  flames  of  hell.  The  fugitives  pause  on  the  top,  look 
back,  call  him  li/ing  2>^'ophet^  and  shout  evil,  opprobrious 
names  at  the  man  Avho  counts  not  his  OAvn  life  dear  to  him,  who 
has  forgotten  his  own  soul  in  his  sacred  devotion  to  men,  who 
fills  up  what  is  left  behind  of  the  sufferings  of  Christ,  for  his 
body's  sake,  —  for  the  human  race,  of  which  he  is  the  head.  Be 
sure  that,  come  what  may  of  the  rest,  let  the  flames  of  hell 
ebb  or  flow,  that  man  is  safe,  for  he  is  delivered  already  from 
the  only  devil  that  can  make  hell  itself  a  torture,  the  devil  of  sel- 
fishness, —  the  only  one  that  can  possess  a  man  and  make  him- 
self his  own  living  hell.  He  is  out  of  all  that  region  of  things, 
and  already  dwelling  in  the  secret  place  of  the  Almighty." 

"  Go  on,  go  on." 

"He  trusts  in  God  so  absolutely,  that  he  leaves  his  salva- 
tion to  him  —  utterly,  fearlessly ;  and,  forgetting  it,  as  being  no 
concern  of  his,  sets  himself  to  do  the  work  that  God  has  given 
him  to  do,  even  as  his  Lord  did  before  him,  counting  that  alone 
worthy  of  his  care.  Let  God's  will  be  done,  and  all  is  well. 
If  God's  will  be  done,  he  cannot  fare  ill.  To  him,  God  is  all 
in  all.  If  it  be  possible  to  separate  such  things,  it  is  the  glory 
of  God,  even  more  than  the  salvation  of  men,  that  he  seeks. 
He  will  not  have  it  that  his  Father  in  heaven  is  not  perfect. 
He  believes  entirely  that  God  loves,  yea,  is  love ;  and,  there- 
fore, that  hell  itself  must  be  subservient  to  that  love,  and  but 
an  embodiment  of  it;  that  the  grand  Avork  of  Justice  is  to 
make  way  for  a  Love  which  will  give  to  every  man  that  which 


372  DAVID    ELOINBROD.  ♦ 

is  right,  and  ten  times  more,  even  if  it  should  be  bj  means  of 
awful  suffering,  —  a  suffering  t\  liich  the  Love  of  the  Father  Avill 
not  shun,  either  for  himself  or  his  children,  but  will  eagerly 
meet  for  their  sakes,  that  he  may  give  them  all  that  is  in  his 
heart." 

"  Surely  you  speak  your  own  opinions  in  describing  thus 
warmly  the  faith  of  the  preacher." 

"  I  do.  He  is  accountable  for  nothing  I  say.  All  I  assert 
is,  that  this  is  how  I  seem  to  myself  to  succeed  in  understand- 
ing him." 

"  How  is  it  that  so  many  good  people  call  him  heterodox?" 

"  I  do  not  mind  that.  I  am  annoyed  only  when  good- 
hearted  people,  with  small  natures  and  cultivated  intellects, 
patronize  him,  and  talk  forgivingly  of  his  warm  heart  and 
unsound  judgment.  To  these,  theology  must  be  like  a  map,  — 
with  plenty  of  lines  in  it.  They  cannot  trust  their  house  on 
the  high  table-land  of  his  theology,  because  they  cannot  see 
the  outlines  bounding  the  said  table-land.  It  is  not  small 
enough  for  them.  They  cannot  take  it  in.  Such  can  hardly 
be  satisfied  with  the  creation,  one  would  think,  seeing  there  is 
no  line  of  division  anywhere  in  it.  They  would  take  care 
there  should  be  no  mistake." 

"  Does  God  draw  no  lines,  then?  " 

"  When  he  does,  they  are  pm-e  lines,  without  breadth,  and 
consequently  invisible  to  mortal  eyes ;  not  Chinese  walls  of 
separation,  such  as  these  definers  Avould  construct.  Such 
minds  are  a  ^^'^'iorl  incapable  of  theorizing  upon  his  theories. 
Or,  to  alter  the  figure,  they  Avill  discover  a  thousand  faults  in 
his  drawing,  but  they  can  never  beliold  the  figure  constructed 
by  his  lines,  and  containing  the  faults  which  they  believe  they 
discover." 

"  But  can  those  theories  in  religion  be  correct  which  are  so 
hard  to  see  ?  " 

"  They  are  only  hard  to  certain  natures." 

"  But  those  natures  are  above  the  average." 

"  Yes,  in  intellect  and  its  cultivation —  nothing  more." 

"You  have  granted  them  heart." 

"  Not  much  ;  but  what  there  is,  good." 

"  That  is  allowing  a  great  deal,  though.  Is  it  not  hard,  then, 
to  say  that  such  cannot  understand  him?  " 


DAVID    ELGIXBROD.  373 

"  Why  ?  They  will  got  to  heaven,  Avliich  is  all  tliej  want. 
And  they  will  uuderstancl  him  one  day,  which  is  more  than 
they  pray  for.  Till  they  have  done  being  anxious  about  their 
own  salvation,  we  must  forgive  them  that  they  can  contemplate 
with  calmness  the  damnation  of  a  universe,  and  believe  that 
God  is  yet  more  indifferent  tlian  they." 

'•  But  do  they  not  bring  the  charge  likewise  against  you,  of 
being  unable  to  understand  tlicm?  '' 

"  Yes.  And  so  it  must  remain,  till  the  Spirit  of  God  decide 
the  matter,  which  I  presume  must  take  place  by  slow  degrees. 
For  this  decision  can  only  consist  in  the  enlightenment  of  souls 
to  see  the  truth  :  and  therefore  has  to  do  with  individuals  only. 
There  is  no  triumph  for  the  Trutli  but  that.  She  knows  no 
glorying  over  the  vanquished,  for  in  her  victory  the  vanquished 
is  already  of  the  vanquishers.  Till  tlien,  the  Right  must  be 
content  to  be  called  the  Wrong,  and  —  which  is  f^ir  harder  — 
to  seem  the  Wrong.  There  is  no  spiritual  victory  gained  by  a 
verbal  conquest ;  or  by  any  kind  of  torture,  even  should  the 
rack  employed  be  that  of  the  purest  logic.  Nay,  more :  so 
iong  as  the  wicked  themselves  remain  impenitent,  there  is 
mourning  in  heaven ;  and  when  there  is  no  longer  any  hope 
over  one  last  remaining  sinner,  heaven  itself  must  confess  its 
defeat,  heap  upon  that  sinner  what  plagues  you  will." 

Hugh  pondered,  and  continued  pondering  till  they  reached 
Falconer's  chambers.     At  the  door  Hugh  paused. 

"  Will  you  not  come  in  ?  " 

"  I  fear  I  shall  become  troublesome." 

"  No  fear  of  that.  I  promise  to  get  rid  of  you  as  soon  as 
I  find  you  so." 

"  Thank  you.  Just  let  me  know  when  you  have  had  enough 
of  me." 

They  entered.  Mrs.  Ashton,  who,  unlike  her  class,  was 
never  missinw  when  wanted,  irot  them  some  bread  and  cheese ; 
and  Falconer's  Fortunatus-purse  of  a  cellar  —  the  bottom  of 
his  cupboard  —  supplied  its  usual  bottle  of  port ;  to  which  fxre 
the  friends  sat  down. 

The  conversation,  like  a  bird  descending  in  spirals,  settled 
at  last  upon  the  subject  Avhich  had  more  or  less  occupied  Hugh's 
thoughts  ever  since  his  unsatisfactory  conversation  with  Fun- 
kelstein,  at  their  first  meeting ;  and  still  more  since  he  had 


374  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

learned  that  this  man  himself  exercised  an  unlawful  influence 
over  Euphra.  He  begged  Falconer,  if  he  had  any  theory  com- 
prehending such  things,  to  let  him  know  what  kind  of  a  rela- 
tion it  was  in  which  Miss  Cameron  stood  to  Funkelstein,  or 
Count  von  Ilalkar. 

"I  have  had  occasion  to  think  a  good  deol  about  those 
things,"  said  Falconer.  "  The  first  thing  evident  is,  that  Miss 
Cameron  is  peculiarly  constituted,  belonging  to  a  class  Avhich 
is,  however,  larger  than  is  commonly  supposed,  circumstances 
rarely  combining  to  bring  out  its  peculiarities.  In  those  who 
constitute  this  class,  the  nervous  element,  either  from  prepon- 
derating, or  from  not  being  in  healthy  and  harmonious  com- 
bination with  the  more  material  element,  manifests  itself  be- 
yond its  ordinary  sphere  of  operation,  and  so  occasions  results 
unlike  the  usual  phenomena  of  life,  though,  of  course,  in  ac- 
cordance with  natural  laws.  To  use  a  simile  :  it  is,  in  such 
cases,  as  if  all  the  nerves  of  the  human  body  came  crowding  to 
the  surface,  and  there  exposed  themselves  to  a  thousand  in- 
fluences from  which  they  would  otherwise  be  preserved.  Of 
course  I  am  not  attempting  to  explain,  only  to  suggest  a  con- 
ceivable hypothesis.  Upon  such  constitutions,  it  would  not  be 
surprising  that  certain  other  constitutions,  similar,  yet  differing, 
should  exercise  a  peculiar  influence.  You  are,  I  dare  say, 
more  or  less  familiar  with  the  main  features  of  mesmerism  and 
its  allies,  among  which  is  what  is  called  biology.  I  presume 
it  is  on  such  constitutions  as  I  have  supposed,  that  those  powers 
are  chiefly  operative.  Miss  Cameron  has,  at  some  time  or  other 
in  her  history,  subm'tted  herself  to  the  influences  of  this  Count 
Ilalkar ;  and  he  has  thus  gained  a  most  dangerous  authority 
over  her,  which  he  has  exercised  for  his  own  ends." 

'•  She  more  than  implied  as  much  in  the  last  conversation  I 
had  with  her." 

"  So  his  loill  became  her  law.  There  is  in  the  world  of 
mind  a  something  corresponding  to  physical  force  in  the  material 
world.  I  cannot  avoid  just  touching  upon  a  higher  analogy. 
The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  not  come,  even  when  God's  will  is 
our  law  :  it  is  come  when  Gods  will  is  our  will.  While  God's 
will  is  our  law,  we  are  but  a  kind  of  noble  slaves  ;  when  his 
will  is  our  will,  we  are  free  children.  Nothing  in  nature  is 
free  enough  to  be  a  symbol  for  the  state  of  those  who  act  im- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  375 

mecliatelj  from  the  essence  of  their  hidden  life,  and  the  rec- 
ognition of  God's  will  as  that  essence.  But,  as  I  said,  this 
belongs  to  a  far  higher  region.  I  only  wanted  to  touch  on  the 
relation  of  the  freedoms,  — physical,  mental,  and  spiritual./ 
To  return  to  the  point  in  hand  :  I  recognize  in  the  story  a  clear 
evidence  of  strife  and  partial  victory  in  the  affair  of  the  ring. 
The  count  —  we  will  call  him  by  the  name  he  gives  himself  — 
had  evidently  been  anxious  for  years  to  possess  himself  of  this 
ring ;  the  probable  reasons  we  have  already  talked  of.  He  had 
laid  his  injunctions  on  his  slave  to  find  it  for  him ;  and  she, 
perhaps  at  first  nothing  loth,  perhaps  loving  the  man  as  well 
as  submitting  to  him,  had  for  a  long  time  attempted  to  find  it, 
but  had  failed.  The  count,  probably  doubting  her  sincerity, 
and  hoping,  at  all  events,  to  urge  her  search,  followed  her  to 
Arnstead,  where  it  is  very  likely  he  had  been  before,  although 
he  had  avoided  Mr.  Arnold.  Judging  it  advantageous  to  get 
into  the  house,  in  order  to  make  observations,  he  employed  his 
chance  meeting  Avith  you  to  that  result.  But,  before  this,  he 
had  watched  Miss  Cameron's  familiarity  with  you,  —  was 
jealous  and  tyrannical.  Hence  the  variations  of  her  conduct 
to  you  ;  for  when  his  power  was  upon  her  she  could  not  do  as  she 
pleased.  But  she  must  have  had  a  real  regard  for  you ;  for 
she  evidently  refused  to  get  you  into  trouble  by  taking  the  ring 
from  your  custody.  But  my  surprise  is  that  the  fellow  limited 
himself  to  that  one  jewel." 

"  You  may  soon  be  relieved  from  that  surprise,"  answered 
Hugh  ;    "he  took  a  valuable  diamond  of  mine  as  well." 

"  The  rascal !  We  may  catch  him,  but  you  are  not  likely 
to  find  your  diamond  again.      Still,  there  is  some  possibility." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  was  not  willing  to  take  it  from  me  ?  " 

"Because,  by  her  own  account,  he  had  to  destroy  her 
power  of  volition  entirely,  before  he  could  make  her  do  it.  He 
threw  her  into  a  mesmeric  sleep." 

"I  should  like  to  understand  his  power  over  her  a  little 
better.  In  such  cases  of  biology  —  how  they  came  to  abuse 
the  word,  I  should  like  to  know  —  " 

"  Just  as  they  call  table-rapping^  etc.,  spiritualism.''^ 

"  I  suppose  his  relation  to  her  must  be  classed  amongst  phe- 
nomena of  that  sort  ?  " 

"Certainly." 


376  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

''  Well,  tell  me,  docs  the  influence  outlast  tlie  mesmeric 
condition?  "' 

"  If  bj  mesmeric  condition  you  mean  any  state  evidently 
approaching  to  that  of  sleep  —  undoubtedly.  It  is,  in  many 
cases,  quite  independent  of  such  a  condition.  Perhaps  the 
degree  of  Avilling  submission  at  first  may  have  something  to 
do  with  it.  But  mesmeric  influence,  whatever  it  may  mean,  is 
entirely  independent  of  sleep.  That  is  an  accident  accompany- 
ing it;   perhaps  sometimes  indicating  its  culmination." 

"Does  the  person  so  influenced  act  with  or  against  his  will  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  most  difficult  question,  involving  others  equally 
difficult.  My  own  impression  is,  that  the  patient  —  for  patient 
in  a  very  serious  sense  he  is  —  acts  with  his  inclination,  and 
often  with  his  will ;  but  in  many  cases  with  his  inclination 
against  his  will.  This  is  a  very  important  distinction  in  mor- 
als, but  often  overlooked.  When  a  man  is  acting  luith  his 
inclination,  his  will  is  in  abeyance.  In  our  present  imperfect 
condition,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  absolute  will  has  no  opportu- 
nity 0^ pure  action,  of  operating  entirely  as  itself,  except  when 
working  in  opposition  to  inclination.  But  to  return:  the 
power  of  the  biologist,  appears  to  me  to  lie  in  this,  —  he  is  able, 
by  some  mysterious  sympathy,  to  produce  in  the  mind  of  the 
patient  such  forceful  impulses  to  do  whatever  he  wills,  that 
they  are  in  fact  irresistible  to  almost  all  who  are  obnoxious  to 
his  influence.  The  will  requires  an  especial  training  and  a 
distinct  development,  before  it  is  capable  of  acting  with  any 
degree  of  freedom.  The  men  who  have  undergone  this  are 
very  few  indeed  ;  and  no  one  whose  will  is  not  educated  as 
will,  can,  if  .subjected  to  the  influences  of  biology,  resist  the 
impulses  roused  in  his  passive  brain  by  the  active  brain  of  the 
operator.      This  at  least  is  my  impression. 

"  Other  things  no  doubt  combined  to  increase  the  influence  in 
the  present  case.  She  liked  him;  perhaps  more  than  liked  him 
once.  She  was  partially  committed  to  his  schemes ;  and  she 
was  easily  mesmerized.  It  would  seem,  besides,  that  she  was 
naturally  disposed  to  somnambulism.  This  is  a  remarkable 
coexistence  of  distinct  developments  of  the  same  peculiarity. 
In  this  latter  condition,  even  if  in  others  she  were  able  to  resist 
him,  she  would  be  quite  helpless  ;  for  all  the  thoughts  that 
passed    through    her   brain  would   owe    their    origin    to  his. 


DAVID    ELCJINBROD.  37T 

Imagine  being  forced  to  think  another  man's  thoughts  !  That 
■vvoukl  be  2^'^ssession  indeed  !  And  this  is  not  far  removed 
from  the  old  stories  about  the  demons  entering  into  a  man.  He 
woukl  be  ruler  over  the  whole  intellectual  life  that  passed  in 
her  during  the  time  ;  and  which  to  her,  as  far  :is  the  ideas 
suggested  belonged  to  the  outward  Avorld,  would  aj)i,)car  an 
outer  life,  passing  all  round  her,  not  in  her.  She  would,  in 
fact,  be  a  creature  of  his  imagination  for  the  time,  as  much 
!!S  any  character  invented,  and  sent  through  varied  cir- 
cumstances, feelings,  and  actions,  by  the  mind  of  the  poet  or 
novelist.  Look  at  the  facts.  Slie  warned  jou  to  beware  of 
the  count  that  night  before  jou  went  into  the  haunted  bed- 
chamber.   Even  when  she  entered  it,  by  your  own  account  —  " 

"  Entered  it?  Then  you  do  thirds  it  was  Euphra  who  per- 
sonated the  ghost?"' 

'"I  am  sure  of  it.      She  was  sleep-walking." 

"  But  so  different  —  such  a  death-like  look  !  " 

"All  that  was  easy  enough  to  manage.  She  refused  to 
obey  him  at  first.  He  mesmerized  her.  It  very  likely  went 
farther  than  he  expected  ;  and  he  succeeded  too  well.  Experi- 
enced, no  doubt,  in  disguises,  he  dressed  her  as  like  the  dead 
Lady  Euphrasia  as  he  could,  following  her  picture.  Perhaps 
she  possessed  such  a  disguise,  and  had  used  it  before.  He 
thus  protected  her  from  suspicion,  and  himsolf  from  implica- 
tion.    What  was  the  color  of  the  hair  in  the  picture?  " 

"  Golden." 

•'  Hence  the  sparkle  of  gold  dust  in  her  hair.  The  count 
managed  it  all.  He  Avilled  that  she  should  go,  and  she  went. 
Her  disguise  was  certain  safety,  should  she  be  seen.  You 
v>ould  suspect  the  ghost,  and  no  one  else,  if  she  appeared  to 
you.  and  you  lost  the  ring  after.  But  even  in  this  state  she 
yielded  against  her  better  inclination,  for  she  was  weeping 
Avhen  you  saw  her.  But  she  could  not  help  it.  "While  you 
lay  on  the  couch  in  the  haunted  chamber,  where  he  carried 
you,  the  awful  death-ghost  was  busy  in  your  room,  was  open- 
ing your  desk,  fingering  your  papers,  and  stealing  your  ring. 
It  is  rather  a  frightful  idea." 

"  She  did  not  take  my  ring,  I  am  sure.  He  followed  her, 
and  took  it.     But  she  could  not  have  come  in  at  either  door." 

'•  Could  not  ?    Did  she  not  go  out  at  one  of  them?    Besides, 


378  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

I  do  not  doubt  that  such  a  room  as  that  had  private  communi- 
cation with  tlie  open  air  as  well.  I  should  much  like  to  exam- 
ine the  place." 

"  But  how  could  she  have  gone  through  the  bolted  door 
then?" 

"That  door  may  have  been  set  in  another,  larger  by  half 
the  frame  or  so,  and  opening  with  a  spring  and  concealed 
hinges.  There  is  no  difficulty  about  that.  There  are  such 
places  to  be  found  now  and  then  in  old  houses.  But,  indeed, 
if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  do  not  consider  your  testimony,  on 
every  minute  particular,  quite  satisfactory." 

"  Why?  "  asked  Hugh,  rather  offended. 

"  First,  because  of  the  state  of  excitement  you  must  have 
been  in  :  and  next,  because  I  doubt  the  wine  that  was  left  in 
your  room.  The  count,  no  doubt,  knew  enough  of  drugs  to  put 
a  few  ghostly  horrors  into  the  decanter.  But  poor  Miss  Cam- 
eron !  The  horrors  he  has  put  into  iier  mind  and  life  !  It  is 
a  sad  fate — -all  but  a  sentence  of  insanity." 

Hugh  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  By  heaven  !  "  he  cried,  "  I  will  strangle  the  knave." 

"  Stop,  stop  !  "  said  Falconer.  •'  No  revenge  !  Leave  him 
to  the  sleeping  divinity  Avithin  him,  which  will  awake  one  day, 
and  complete  the  hell  that  he  is  now  building  for  himself,  —  for 
the  very  fire  of  hell  is  the  divine  in  it.  Your  work  is  to  set 
Euphra  free.  If  you  did  strangle  him,  how  do  you  know  that 
would  free  her  from  him?  " 

"  Horrible  !     Have  you  no  news  of  him?  '' 

"  None. whatever." 

"  What,  then,  can  I  do  for  her  ?  " 

"You  must  teach  her  to  foil  him." 

"  How  am  I  to  do  that?  Even  if  I  knew  how,  I  cannot 
Bee  her,  I  cannot  speak  to  her." 

"  I  have  a  great  faith  in  opportunity." 

"  But  how  sliould  she  foil  him  ?  " 

' '  She  must  pray  to  God  to  redeem  her  fettered  will  —  to 
strengthen  her  will  to  redeem  herself.  She  must  resist  the 
count,  should  he  again  claim  her  submission  (as,  for  her  sake, 
I  hope  he  will),  as  she  would  the  devil  himself.  She  iiv.iHt 
overcome.  Then  she  will  be  free  —  not  before.  This  will  be 
\ery  hard  to  do.     His  power  has  been  excessive  and  peculiar, 


DAVID    ELGINBP.OD.  379 

and  her  submission  long  and  complete.  Even  if  he  left  her 
alone,  she  would  not  therefore  be  free.  She  must  defy  him; 
break  his  bonds ;  oppose  his  will ;  assert  her  freedom ;  and 
defeat  him  utterly." 

"  Oh  !  who  will  help  her?  I  have  no  power.  Even  if  I 
were  with  her,  I  could  not  help  her  in  such  a  struggle.  I 
wish  David  were  not  dead.  He  was  the  man.  You  could 
now,  Mr.  Falconer." 

"  No.  E.xcept  I  knew  her,  had  known  her  for  some  time, 
and  had  a  strong  hold  of  ay  her  nature,  I  could  not,  would 
not,  try  to  help  her.  If  Providence  brought  this  about,  I 
would  do  my  best ;  but  otherwise  I  would  not  interfere.  But 
if  she  pray  to  God,  he  will  give  her  whatever  help  she  needs, 
and  in  the  best  way  too." 

"  I  think  it  will  be  some  comfort  to  her  if  we  could  find  the 
ring,  — the  crystal,  I  mean." 

"  It  would  be  more,  I  think,  if  we  could  find  the  diamond."* 

"  How  can  Ave  find  either?  " 

"  We  must  find  the  count  first.  I  have  not  given  that  up, 
of  course.  I  will  tell  you  what  I  should  like  to  do,  if  I  knew 
the  hidj." 

"What?" 

"  Get  her  to  come  to  London,  and  make  herself  as  public  as 
possible  :  go  to  operas,  and  balls,  and  theatres ;  be  presented  at 
court ;  take  a  stall  at  every  bazaar,  and  sell  charity  puff-balls, 
—  get  as  much  into  the  papers  as  possible.  '  The  lovely, 
accomplished,  fascinating  Miss  Cameron,  etc.,  etc'  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean.  The  count  has  forsaken  her 
now;  but  as  soon  as  he  heard  that  she  was  somebody,  that  she 
was  followed  and  admired,  his  vanity  would  be  roused,  his  old 
sense  of  property  in  her  would  revive,  and  he  would  begin 
once  more  to  draw  her  into  his  -toils.  What  the  result  would 
be,  it  is  impossible  to  foretell ;  but  it  would  at  least  give  us  a 
chance  of  catching;  him,  and  her  a  chance  of  resisting  him." 

"I  don't  think,  however,  that  she  would  venture  on  that 
course  herself.     I  should  not  dare  to  propose  it  to  her." 

•'  No.  no.  It  was  only  an  invention,  to  deceive  mj^self  Avith 
the  flincy  that  I  was  doing  something.  There  would  be  many 
objections  to  such  a  plan,  even  if  it  were  practicable.     I  must 


380  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

still  try  to  find  him,  and,  if  fresh  endeavors  should  fail,  devisa 
fresher  still." 

''Thank  you  a  thousand  times,"  said  Hugh.  "It  is  too 
good  of  you  to  take  so  much  trouble." 

"It  is  my  business,"  answered  Falconer.  "  Is  there  not  a 
soul  in  trouble?  " 

Hugh  went  home,  full  of  his  new  friend.  With  the  clue 
he  had  given  him,  he  was  able  to  follow  all  the  windings  of 
Euphra's  behavior,  and  to  account  for  almost  everything  thot 
had  taken  place.  It  was  quite^painful  for  him  to  feel  that  he 
could  be  of  no  immediate  service  to  her ;  but  he  could  hardly 
doubt  that,  before  long,  Falconer  would,  in  his  wisdom  and 
experience,  excogitate  some  mode  of  procedure  in  which  he 
might  be  able  to  take  a  part. 

He  sat  down  to  his  novel,  which  had  been  making  but  little 
progress  for  some  time;  for  it  is  hard  to  write  a  novel  when 
one  is  living  in  the  midst  of  a  romance.  But  the  romance,  at 
this  time,  was  not  very  close  to  him.  It  had  a  past  and  a  pos- 
sible future,  but  no  present.  That  same  future,  however, 
might  at  any  moment  dav/n  into  the  present. 

In  tiie  mean  time,  teaching  the  Latin  grammar  and  the 
English  alphabet  to  young  aspirants  after  the  honors  of  tJie 
ministrf/,  was  not  work  inimical  to  invention,  from  either  the 
exhaustion  of  its  excitement  or  the  absorption  of  its  interest. 


CHAPTER   LX. 

THE    lady's-maid. 

Her  yellow  hair,  beyond  compare, 

Comes  tricikliug  down  her  swan-whito  neek; 
And  her  two  eyes,  like  stars  in  skies, 

AVould  keep  a  sinking  ship  frae  wreck. 
Oh  !   JVJ ally's  week,  Mally's  sweet, 

Mally's  modest  and  discreet; 
Mally's  rare,  Mally's  fair, 
Mally's  every  way  complete. 

Burns. 
What  arms  for  innocence  but  innocence. 

UiLES  Fletcher. 


Margaret  had  sought  Euphra's  room,  with  the  intention 
of  restorinsT  to  her  the  letter  which  she  had  written  to  David 


DAVID    ELGINCHOD.  881 

Elginbrod.  Janet  had  let  it  lie  for  some  time  before  she  sent 
it  to  Margaret :  and  Euphra  had  given  up  all  expectation  of 
an  answer. 

Hopes  of  ministration  filled  Margaret's  heart :  but  she 
expected,  from  what  she  knew  of  ber.  that  anger  would  be 
Miss  Cameron's  first  feeling.  Therefore,  when  she  heard  no 
answer  to  her  application  for  admission,  and  had  concluded,  in 
consequence,  that  Euphra  was  not  in  the  room,  she  resolved  to 
leave  the  letter  where  it  would  meet  her  eje,  and  thus  prepare 
the  way  for  a  future  conversation.  When  she  saw  Euphra  and 
Harry,  she  would  have  retired  immediately:  but  Euphra, 
annoyed  by  her  entrance,  was  now  quite  able  to  speak. 

''  AVhat  do  you  want?  "'  she  said,  angrily. 

"  This  is  your  letter,  Miss  Cameron,  is  it  not?  "  said  Mar- 
garet, advancing  with  it  in  her  hacd. 

Euphra  took  it.  glanced  at  the  direction,  pushed  Harry 
away  from  her,  started  ujj  in  a  passion,  and  let  loose  tlie  whole 
gathered  irritability  of  contempt,  weariness,  disappointment, 
and  sufi"ering,  upon  Margaret.  Her  dark  eyes  flashed  with 
rage,  and  her  sallow  cheek  glowed  like  a  peach. 

'•'What  right  have  you,  pray,  to  handle  my  letters?  How 
did  you  get  this  ?  It  has  never  been,  posted  !  And  open,  too, 
I  declare  !     I  suppose  you  have  read  it  ?  " ' 

Margaret  was  afraid  of  exciting  more  wrath  before  she  had 
an  opportunity  of  explaining  ;  but  Euphra  gave  her  no  time  to 
think  of  a  reply. 

"  You  have  read  it.  you  shameless  woman  !  Why  don't 
you  lie.  like  the  rest  of  your  tribe,  and  keep  me  from  dying 
with  indignation  ?  Impudent  prying  !  My  maid  never  posted 
it,  and  you  have  found  it  and  read  it !  Pray,  did  you  hope  to 
find  a  secret  worth  a  bribe? '' 

She  advanced  on  Margaret  till  within  a  foot  of  her. 

'•Why  don't  you  answer,  you  hussy?  i  will  go  this 
instant  to  your  mistress.     You  or  I  leave  the  house."' 

Margaret  had  stood  all  this  time  quietly,  waiting  for  an 
opportunity  to  speak.  Her  face  was  very  pale,  but  perfectly 
stiil.  and  her  eyes  did  not  quail.  She  had  not  in  the  least  lost 
her  self-possession.  She  would  nc  t  say  at  once  that  she  had 
read  the  letter,  because  that  would  instantly  rouse  the  tornado 
airain. 


382  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

"You  do  not  know  my  name,  Miss  Cameron;  of  course 
you  could  not." 

"  Your  name  !     What  is  that  to  me  ?  " 

"That,"  said  Margaret,  pointing  to  the  letter,  "is  my 
father's  name." 

Euphra  looked  at  her  own  direction  again,  and  then  looked 
at  Margaret.  She  was  so  bewildered,  that,  if  she  had  any 
thoughts,  she  did  not  know  them.     Margaret  went  on  :  — ' 

"  My  father  is  dead.     My  mother  sent  the  letter  to  me." 

"  Then  you  have  had  the  impertinence  to  read  it !  " 

"  It  was  my  duty  to  read  it." 

"  Duty  !   What  business  had  you  with  it?  " 

Euphra  felt  ashamed  of  the  letter  as  soon  as  she  found  that 
she  had  applied  to  a  man  whose  daughter  was  a  servant. 
Margaret  answered  :  — 

"  I  could  at  least  reply  to  it  so  far,  that  the  writer  should 
not  think  my  father  had  neglected  it.  I  did  not  know  who  it 
was  from  till  I  came  to  the  end." 

Euphra  turned  her  back  on  her,  with  the  words  :  — 

"  You  may  go." 

Margaret  walked  out  of  the  room  with  an  unconscious,  stately 
gentleness. 

"  Come  back,"  cried  Euphra. 

INIargaret  obeyed. 

"Of  course  you  will  tell  all  your  fellow-servants  the  con- 
tents of  this  foolish  letter." 

Margaret's  face  flushed,  and  her  eye  flashed,  at  the  first 
words  of  this  speech ;  but  the  last  words  made  her  forget  the 
first,  and  to  them  only  she  replied.  Clasping  her  hands,  she 
said :  — 

"Dear  Miss  Cameron,  do  not  call  it  foolish.  For  God's 
sake,  do  not  call  it  foolish." 

"  What  is  it  to  you  ?  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  make  a 
confidante  of  you  ?  " 

Margaret  again  left  the  room.  Notwithstanding  that  she 
had  made  no  answer  to  her  insult,  Euphra  felt  satisfied  that 
her  letter  was  safe  from  profanation. 

No  sooner  was  Mar2;aret  out  of  sia:ht,  than,  with  the  reaction 
common  to  violent  tempers,  which  in  this  case  resulted  the 
sooner,  from  the  exhaustion  produced  in  a  worn  frame  by  ^Kp, 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  383 

violence  of  the  outburst,  Euphra  sat  down,  in  a  hopeless, 
unresting  "way,  upon  the  chair  from  which  she  had  just  risen, 
and  began  weeping  more  bitterly  than  before.  She  was  not 
only  exhausted,  but  ashamed ;  and  to  these  feelings  was  added 
a  far  greater  sense  of  disappointment  than  she  could  have 
believed  possible,  at  the  frustration  of  the  hope  of  help  from 
David  Elginbrod.  True,  this  hope  had  been  small :  but 
where  there  is  only  one  hope,  its  death  is  equally  bitter, 
whether  it  be  a  great  or  a  little  hope.  And  there  is  often  no 
power  of  reaction,  in  a  mind  which  has  been  gradually  reduced 
to  one  little  faint  hope,  when  that  hope  goes  out  in  darkness. 
There  is  a  recoil,  which  is  very  helpful,  from  the  blow  that 
kills  a  great  hope. 

All  this  time  Harry  had  been  looking  on.  in  a  kind  of  para- 
lyzed condition,  pale  with  perplexity  and  distress.  He  now 
came  up  to  Euphra,  and,  trying  to  pull  her  hand  gently  from 
her  face,  "said  :  — 

"  What  is  it  all  about,  Euphra,  dear?  " 

"  Oh  !   I  have  been  very  naughty,  Harry." 

"  But  what  is  it  all  about?      May  I  read  the  letter  ?  " 

"If  you  like,''  answered  Euphra,  listlessly. 

Harry  read  the  letter  with  quivering  features.  Then,  laying 
it  down  on  the  table  with  a  reverential  slowness,  went  to 
Euphra,  put  his  arms  round  her  and  kissed  her. 

"  Dear,  dear  Euphra.  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  unhappy. 
I  will  find  God  for  you.  But  first  I  will  —  what  shall  I  do  to 
the  bad  man  ?     AVho  is  it?      I  will  —  " 

Harry  finished  the  sentence  by  setting  his  teeth  hard. 

"Oh  !  you  can't  do  anything  for  me,  Harry,  dear.  Only 
mind  you  don't  say  anything  about  it  to  any  one.  Put  the 
letter  in  the  fire  there  for  me." 

"  No  —  that  I  won't,"  said  Harry,  taking  up  the  letter,  and 
holding  it  tight.  "  It  is  a  beautiful  letter,  and  it  does  me 
good.  Don't  you  think,  though  it  is  not  sent  to  God  himself, 
he  may  read  it,  and  take  it  for  a  prayer?  " 

"  I  wish  he  would,  Harry." 

"But  it  was  very  wrong  of  you,  Euphra,  dear,  to  speak  as 
you  did  to  the  daughter  of  such  a  good  man.'' 

"  Yes,  it  was." 


384  DAVID    ELGTNBIIOD. 

"But  then,  you  see,  you  got  angry  before  you  knew  who 
she  was.'' 

''  But  I  shouldn't  have  got  angry  before  I  knew  all  about 
it." 

"Well,  you  have  only  to  say  you  are  sorry,  and  Margaret 
won't  think  anything  more  about  it.      Oh,  she  is  so  good !  " 

Euplini  recoiled  from  making  confession  of  wrong  to  a  lady's- 
maid  ;  and  perhaps  she  was  a  little  jealous  of  Harry's  admi- 
ration of  ISIargaret.  For  Euphra  had  not  yet  cast  off  all  her 
old  habits  of  mind,  and  one  of  them  Avas  the  desire  to  be  first 
Avith  every  one  whom  she  cared  for.  She  had  got  rid  of  a  worse, 
Avhich  was,  a  necessity  of  being  first  in  every  company, 
whether  she  cared  for  the  persons  composing  it,  or  not. 
Mental  sufferinor  had  driven  the  latter  fiir  enoudi  from  her : 
though  it  would  return  worse  than  ever,  if  her  mind  were  not 
filled  with  truth  in  the  place  of  ambition.  So  she  did  not  re- 
spond to  what  Harry  said.  Indeed,  she  did  not  speak  again, 
except  to  beg  him  to  leave  her  alone.  She  did  not  make  her 
appearance  again  that  day. 

But  at  night,  when  the  household  was  retiring,  she  rose  from 
the  bed  on  Avhich  she  had  been  lying  half  unconscious,  and 
going  to  the  door,  opened  it  a  little  Avay,  that  she  might  hear 
when  IMargaret  sliould  pass  from  JMrs.  Elton's  room  towards 
her  OAvn.  She  waited  for  some  time  ;  but  judging,  at  length, 
that  she  must  have  passed  Avithout  her  knoAvledge,  she 
went  and  knocked  at  her  door.  jMargaret  opened  it  a  little, 
after  a  moment's  delay,  half  undressed. 

"  May  I  come  in,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Pray,  do,  Miss  Cameron,"  answered  Margaret. 

And  she  opened  the  door  quite.  Her  cap  Avas  off,  and  her 
rich  dark  hair  fell  on  her  shoulders,  and  streamed  thence  to 
her  Avaist.     Her  under-clothing  Avas  Avhite  as  snoAv. 

"  AVhat  a  lovely  skin  she  has  !  "  tiiought  Euphra,  compar- 
ing it  with  her  own  tawny  complexion.  She  felt,  for  the  first 
time,  that  Margaret  was  beautiful, — yes,  more:  that  Avhatcver 
her  gown  might  be,  her  form  and  her  skin  (give  me  a  prettier 
word,  kind  reader,  for  a  beautiful  fact,  and  I  Avill  gladly  use 
it)  Avere  those  of  one  of  nature's  ladies.  She  AA'as  soon  to 
find  that  her  intellect  and  spirit  were  those  of  one  of  God's 
ladies. 


DAVID   ELaiNBROD.  385 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Margaret,  that  I  spoke  to  you  as  I  did 
to-day." 

"Never  mind  it.  Miss  Cameron.  We  cannot  help  being 
angry  sometimes.  And  you  had  great  provocation  under  the 
mistake  you  made.  I  was  only  sorry,  because  I  knew  it  would 
trouble  you  afterwards.      Please  don't  think  of  it  again." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Margaret." 

"I  regretted  my  father's  death,  for  the  first  time,  after 
reading  your  letter,  for  I  knew  he  could  have  helped  you.  But 
it  was  very  foolish  of  me,  for  God  is  not  dead." 

Margaret  smiled  as  she  said  this,  looking  full  in  Euphra's 
eyes.  It  was  a  smile  of  meaning  unfathomable,  and  it  quite 
overcame  Euphra.  She  had  never  liked  Margaret  before ;  for, 
from  not  very  obscure  psychological  causes,  she  had  never  felt 
comfortable  in  her  presence,  especially  after  she  had  encoun- 
tered the  nun  in  the  Ghost's  Walk,  though  she  had  had  no  sus- 
picion that  the  nun  was  Margaret.  A  great  many  of  our  dis- 
likes, both  to  persons  and  things,  arise  from  a  feeling  of 
discomfort  associated  with  them,  perhaps  only  accidentally 
present  in  our  minds  the  first  time  Ave  met  them.  But  this 
vanished  entirely  now. 

"  Do  you,  then,  know  God  too,  Margaret?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Margaret,  simply  and  solemnly.     . 

"  Will  you  tell  me  about  him?  " 

"  I  can  at  least  tell  you  about  my  father,  and  what  he  taught 
me." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  thank  you  !  Do  tell  me  about  him,  — 
now." 

"  Not  now,  dear  Miss  Cameron.  It  is  late,  and  you  are  too 
unwell  to  stay  up  longer.  Let  me  help  you  to  bed  to-night.  I 
will  be  your  maid." 

As  she  spoke,  Margaret  proceeded  to  put  on  her  dress  again, 
that  she  might  go  with  Euphra,  who  had  no  attendant.  She 
had  parted  with  Jane,  and  did  not  care,  in  her  present  mood, 
to  have  a  woman  about  her,  especially  a  new  one. 

"No,  Margaret.  You  have  enougji  to  do  without  adding  me 
to  your  troubles!" 

"  Please,  do  let   me.  Miss  Cameron.     It  will  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me.     I  have  hardly  anything  to  call  wOrk.     You 
should  see  how  I  used  to  work  when  I  was  at  home." 
25 


336  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

Euphra  still  objected,  but  Margaret's  entreaty  prevailed. 
She  followed  Euphra  to  her  room.  There  she  served  her  like 
a  ministering  angel;  brushed  her  hair — oh,  so  gently! 
smoothing  it  out  as  if  she  loved  it.  There  was  health  in  the 
touch  of  her  hands,  because  there  was  love.  She  undressed 
her;  covered  her  in  bed  as  if  she  had  been  a  child  ;  made  up 
the  fire  to  last  as  long  as  possible ;  bade  her  good-night ; 
and  was  leaving  the  room,  when  Euphra  called  her.  Margaret 
returned  to  the  bedside. 

"  Kiss  me,  Margaret,"  she  said. 

Margaret  stooped,  kissed  her  forehead  and  her  lips,  and  left 
her. 

Euphra  cried  herself  to  sleep.  They  were  the  first  teara 
she  had  ever  shed  that  were  not  painful  tears.  She  slept  as 
she  had  not  slept  for  months. 

In  order  to  understand  this  change  in  Euphrasia's  behavior 
to  Margaret  —  in  order,  in  fact,  to  represent  it  to  our  minds  as 
at  all  credible  —  we  must  remember  that  she  had  been  trying 
to  do  right  for  some  time ;  that  Margaret,  as  the  daughter  of 
David,  seemed  the  only  attainable  source  of  the  knowledge  she 
sought ;  that  long  illness  had  greatly  weakened  her  obstinacy ; 
that  her  soul  hungered,  without  knowing  it,  for  love  ;  and  that 
she  was  naturally  gifted  with  a  strong  will,  the  position  in 
which  she  stood  in  relation  to  the  count  proving  only  that  it 
was  not  strong  enough,  and  not  that  it  was  weak.  Such  a 
character  must,  for  any  good,  be  ruled  by  itself,  and  not  by 
circumstances.  To  have  been  overcome  in  the  process  of  time 
by  the  persistent  goodness  of  Margaret,  might  have  been  the 
blessed  fate  of  a  weaker  and  worse  woman  ;  but  if  Euphra  did 
not  overcome  herself,  there  was  no  hope  of  further  victory.  If 
Margaret  could  even  wither  the  power  of  her  oppressor,  it 
would  be  but  to  transfer  the  lordship  from  a  bad  man  to  a  good 
woman;  and  that  would  not  be  enough.  It  would  not  be  free- 
dom. And,  indeed,  the  aid  that  Margaret  had  to  give  hei 
could  only  be  bestowed  on  one  who  already  had  freedom  enough 
to  act  in  some  degree  from  duty.  She  knew  she  ought  to  gu 
and  apologize  to  Margaret.      She  went. 

In  Margaret's  presence,  and  in  such  a  mood,  she  was  sub- 
jected at  once  to  the  holy  enchantment  of  her  loving-kindnesd, 
Bhe  had  never  received  any  tenderness  from  a  woman  before. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  887 

Perhaps  she  had  never  been  in  the  right  mood  to  profit  bj 
it  if  she  had.  Nor  had  she  ever  before  seen  Avhat  Margaret 
was.  It  was  only  when  service  —  divine  service  —  flowed 
from  her  in  full  outgoing,  that  she  reached  the  height  of  her 
loveliness.  Then  her  whole  form  was  beautiful.  So  was  it 
interpenetrated  by,  and  respondent  to,  the  uprising  soul  within, 
that  it  radiated  thought  and  feeling  as  if  it  had  been  all  spirit. 
This  beauty  rose  to  its  best  in  her  eyes.  When  she  was  min- 
istering to  any  one  in  need,  iier  eyes  seemed  to  worship  the 
object  of  her  faithfulness,  as  if  all  the  time  she  felt  that  she  was 
doing  it  unto  Him.  Her  deeds  were  devotion.  She  was  the 
receiver,  and  not  the  giver.  Before  this,  Euphra  had  seen 
only  the  still,  waiting  face ;  and,  as  I  have  said,  she  had  been 
repelled  by  it.  Once  within  the  sphere  of  the  radiation  of  her 
attraction,  she  was  drawn  towards  her,  as  towards  the  haven  of 
her  peace ;  she  loved  her. 

To  this,  at  length,  had  her  struggle  with  herself  in  the 
silence  of  her  own  room,  and  her  meditations  on  her  couch, 
conducted  her.  Shall  we  say  that  these  alone  had  been  and 
were  leading  her  ?  Or  that  to  all  these  there  was  a  hidden 
root,  and  an  informing  spirit  ?  Who  would  not  rather  believe 
that  his  thoughts  come  from  an  infinite,  self-sphered,  self- 
constituting  thought,  than  that  they  rise  somehoAv  out  of  a 
blank  abyss  of  darkness,  and  are  only  thought  when  he 
thinks  them,  which  thinking  he  cannot  predetermine  or  even 
foresee  ? 

When  Euphra  woke,  her  first  breath  was  like  a  deep  draught 
of  spiritual  Avater.  She  felt  as  if  some  sorrow  had  passed 
from  her,  and  some  gladness  come  in  its  stead.  She  thought 
and  thought,  and  found  that  the  gladness  was  Margaret.  She 
had  scarcely  made  the  discovery,  when  the  door  gently  opened, 
and  Margaret  peeped  in  to  see  if  she  were  awake. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  please,  Margaret." 

"  How  do  you  feel  to-day  ?  " 

"Oh,  so  much  better,  dear  Margaret!  Your  kindness 
will  make  me  well." 

"  I  am  so  glad  !  Do  lie  still  a  while,  and  I  will  bring  you 
some  breakfast.  Mrs.  Elton  will  be  so  pleased  to  find  you  let 
me  wait  on  you  !  " 


388  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

"She  asked  me,  Margaret,  if  you  should,  but  I  was  too 
miserable  —  and  too  naughty,  for  I  did  not  like  you." 

"I  knew  that;  but  I  felt  sure  you  would  not  dislike  me 
always." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  could  not  help  loving  you." 

"  Why  did  you  love  me?  " 

''I  will  tell  you  half  the  reason.  Because  you  looked 
>"  lappy." 

'  What  was  the  other  half  ?  " 

"  That  I  cannot  —  I  mean  I  will  not  tell  you." 

"Never?" 

"  Perhaps  never.     But  I  don't  know.     Not  now." 

"  Then  I  must  not  ask  you  ?  " 

"  No  —  please." 

"Very  well,  I  won't." 

"  Thank  you.     I  will  go  and  get  your  breakfast." 

"  What  can  she  mean  ?  "  said  Euphra  to  herself. 

But  she  would  never  have  found  out. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

DAVID     ELGINBROD. 

He  being  dead  yet  speaketh. 

Heb.  xi.  4. 

In  all  "  he  "  did 
Some  figure  of  the  golden  tirnea  was  hid. 

Db.  Donne. 

From  this  time,  Margaret  waited  upon  Euphra,  as  if  she 
had  been  her  own  maid.  Nor  had  Mrs.  Elton  any  cause  of 
complaint,  for  Margaret  was  always  at  hand  when  she  was 
wanted.  Indeed,  her  mistress  was  full  of  her  praises. 
Euphra  said  little. 

Many  and  long  were  the  conversations  between  the  two 
girlsj    when    all    but    themselves    were    asleep.     Sometimes 


1 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  389 

Harry  made  one  of  the  company  ;  but  they  could  always  send 
him  away  Avlien  they  wished  to  be  alone.  And  now  the 
teaching  for  which  Euphra  had  longed,  sprang  in  a  fountain 
at  her  own  door.  It  had  been  nigh  her  long,  and  she  had  not 
known  it,  for  its  hour  had  not  come.  Now  she  drank  as  only 
the  thirsty  drink,  —  as  they  drink  whose  very  souls  are  faint- 
in«;  within  them  for  drouo-ht. 

But  how  did  Margaret  embody  her  lessons  ? 

The  second  night,  she  came  to  Euphra's  room,  and 
said  :  — 

' '  Shall  I  tell  you  about  my  father  to-night  ?  Are  you 
able?" 

Euphra  was  delighted.  It  was  what  she  had  been  hoping 
for  all  day. 

"  Do  tell  me.     I  long  to  hear  about  him." 

So  they  sat  down ;  and  Margaret  began  to  talk  about  her 
childhood ;  the  cottage  she  lived  in ;  the  fir-wood  all  around 
it ;  the  work  she  used  to  do  ;  —  her  side,  in  short,  of  the  story 
which,  in  the  commencement  of  this  book,  I  have  partly  re- 
lated from  Hugh's  side.  Summer  and  winter,  spring-time 
and  harvest,  storm  and  sunshine,  —  all  came  into  the  tale.  Her 
mother  came  into  it  often ;  and  often  too,  though  not  so  often, 
the  grand  form  of  her  father  appeared,  remained  for  a  little 
while,  and  then  passed  away.  Every  time  Euphra  saw  hira 
thus  in  the  mirror  of  Margaret's  memory,  she  saw  him  more 
clearly  than  before  ;  she  felt  as  if,  soon,  she  should  know  him 
quite  well.  Sometimes  she  asked  a  question  or  tAVO ;  but 
generally  she  allowed  Margaret's  Avords  to  flow  unchecked; 
for  she  painted  her  pictures  better  when  the  colors  did  not  dry 
between.  They  talked  on,  or  rather  Margaret  talked  and 
Euphra  listened,  far  into  the  night.  At  length  Margaret 
stopped  suddenly,  for  she  became  aware  that  a  long  time  had 
passed.  Looking  at  the  clock  on  the  chimney-piece,  she 
said :  — 

"I  have  done  wrong  to  keep  you  up  so  late.  Come  —  I 
must  get  you  to  bed.  You  are  an  invalid,  you  know,  and  I 
am  your  nurse  as  well  as  your  maid." 

"  You  will  come  to-morrow  night,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will." 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  bed  like  a  good  child." 


890  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

Margaret  undressed  her,  and  left  her  to  the  nealing  of 
Bleep. 

The  next  night  she  spoke  again  of  her  father,  and  what  he 
taught  her.  Euphra  had  thought  much  about  him  ;  and  at 
every  fresh  touch  which  the  story  gave  to  the  portrait  she 
knew  him  better ;  till  at  last,  even  when  circumstances  not 
mentioned  before  came  up,  she  seemed  to  have  known  them 
from  the  bejrinninoj. 

"  What  was  your  father  like,  Margaret?  " 

Margaret  described  him  very  nearly  as  I  have  done,  from 
Plugh's  account,  in  the  former  part  of  the  story.  Euphra 
said :  — 

"  Ah  !  yes.  That  is  almost  exactly  as  I  had  fancied  him. 
Is  it  not  strange?" 

"  It  is  very  natural,  I  think,"  answered  Margaret. 

"  I  seem  now  to  have  known  him  for  years." 

But  what  is  most  worthy  of  record  is,  that  ever  as  the 
picture  of  David  grew  on  the  vision  of  Euphra,  the  idea  of 
God  was  growing  unawares  upon  her  inward  sight.  She  Avas 
learning  more  and  more  about  God  all  the  time.  The  sight  of 
human  excellence  awoke  a  faint  ideal  of  the  divine  perfection. 
Faith  came  of  itself,  and  abode,  and  grew  ;  for  it  needs  but 
a  vision  of  the  divine,  and  faith  in  God  is  straightway  born  m 
the  soul  that  beholds  it.  Thus,  faith  and  sight  are  one.  The 
being  of  her  Father  in  heaven  was  no  more  strange  and  far  off 
from  her,  when  she  had  seen  such  a  father  on  earth  as 
Margaret's  was.  It  was  not  alone  David's  faith  that  begot 
hers,  but  the  man  himself  was  a  faith-begetting  presence.  He 
was  the  evidence  of  God  with  them.  Thus  he,  being  dead, 
yet  spoke,  and  the  departed  man  was  a  present  power. 

Euphra  began  to  read  the  story  of  the  gospel.  So  did 
Harry.  They  found  much  on  which  to  desire  enlightenment ; 
and  they  always  applied  to  Margaret  for  the  light  they  needed. 
It  was  long  before  she  ventured  to  say  /  think.  She  always 
said :  — 

"  My  father  used  to  say  —  "  or,  "I  think  my  father  would 
have  said —  " 

It  was  not  until  Euphra  was  in  great  trouble,  some  time 
after  this,  and  required  the  immediate  consolation  of  personal 
testimony,  that  Margaret  spoke  as  from  herself;  and  then  she 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  391 

spoke  with  positive  assurance  of  faith.  She  did  not  then  even 
say  I  tJiink,  but,  lam  sure;  I  know  ;  I  have  seen. 

Many  interviews  of  this  sort  did  not  take  place  between 
them  before  Euphra,  in  her  turn,  began  to  confide  her  history 
to  jNIargaret. 

It  was  a  strangely  different  one,  —  full  of  outward  event 
and  physical  trouble  ;  but,  till  it  approached  the  last  stages, 
wonderfully  barren  as  to  inward  production  or  development. 
It  was  a  history  of  Euphra's  circumstances  and  peculiarities, 
not  of  Euphra  herself.  Till  of  late,  she  had  scarcely  had  any 
history.  Margaret's,  oh  the  contrary,  was  a  true  history ;  for, 
with  much  of  the  monotonous  in  circumstance,  it  described 
individual  growth,  and  the  change  of  progress.  Where  there 
is  no  change  there  can  be  no  history :  and  as  all  change  ia 
either  growth  or  decay,  all  history  must  describe  progress  or 
retrogression.  The  former  had  now  begun  for  Euphra  as 
v/ell ;  and  it  was  one  proof  of  it  that  she  told  Margaret  all  I 
have  already  recorded  for  my  readers,  at  least  as  far  as  it  bore 
against  herself.  How  much  more  she  told  her  I  am  unable 
to  say ;  but  after  she  had  told  it,  Euphra  was  still  more 
humble  towards  Margaret,  and  Margaret  more  tender,  more 
full  of  service,  if  possible,  and  more  devoted  to  Euphra. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

Margaret's  secret. 


Love  is  not  love 
Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds, 
Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove. 

Shakespeare.  —  Sonnet  cxvi. 


Margaret  could  not  proceed  very  far  in  the  story  of  her 
life,  without  making  some  reference  to  Hugh  Sutherland.  But 
she  carefully  avoided  mentioning  his  name.  Perhaps  no  one 
less  calm,  and  free  from  the  operation  of  excitement,  could 
have  been  so  successful  in  suppressing  it. 


392  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Euphra,  one  day,  "  your  history  is  a  little  like 
mine  there  ;  a  tutor  comes  into  them  both.  Did  you  not  fall 
dreadfully  in  love  with  liim?  " 

"  I  loved  him  very  much." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"In  London,  I  believe." 

"  Do  you  never  see  him  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Have  you  never  seen  him  since  he  left  your  home  —  with 
the  curious  name  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  not  spoken  to  him." 

"Where?" 

Margaret  was  silent.  Euphra  knew  her  well  enough  now 
not  to  repeat  the  question. 

"  I  should  have  been  in  love  with  him,  I  know." 

Margaret  only  smiled. 

Another  day,  Euphra  said  :  — 

"  What  a  good  boy  that  Harry  is  !  And  so'clever  too.  Ah  ! 
Margaret,  I  have  behaved  like  the  devil  to  that  boy.  I  wanted 
to  have  him  all  to  myself,  and  so  kept  him  a  child.  Need  I 
confess  all  my  ugliest  sins  ?  ' ' 

"Not  to  rae,  certainly,  dear  Miss  Cameron.  Tell  God  to 
look  into  your  heart,  and  take  them  all  out  of  it." 

"  I  will.  I  do.  I  even  enticed  Mr.  Sutherland  away  from 
him  to  me,  when  he  was  the  only  real  friend  he  had,  that  I 
might  have  them  both." 

"  But  you  have  done  your  best  to  make  up  for  it  since." 

"  I  have  tried  a  little.  I  cannot  say  I  have  done  my  best. 
I  have  been  so  peevish  and  irritable." 

"  You  could  not  quite  help  that." 

' '  HoAv  kind  you  are  to  excuse  me  so  !  It  makes  me  so  much 
stronger  to  try  again." 

"  My  father  used  -to  say  that  God  was  always  finding  every 
excuse  for  us  that  could  be  found  ;  every  true  one,  you  know ; 
not  one  false  one." 

"  That  does  comfort  one." 

After  a  pause,  Euphra  resumed  :  — 

"Mr.  Sutherland  did  me  some  good,  Margaret." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  that." 

"  He  made  me  think  less  about  Count  Halkar ;  and  that  was 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  393 

something,  for  he  hi.«anted  me.  I  did  not  know  then  how  very 
wicked  he  was.  I  did  love  him  once.  Oh,  how  I  hate  him 
now  !  " 

And  she  started  up  and  paced  the  room  like  a  tigress  in  its 
Cage. 

Margaret  did  not  judge  this  the  occasion  to  read  her  a  lecture 
on  the  duty  of  forgiveness.  She  had  enough  to  do  to  keep 
from  hating  the  man  herself,  I  suspect.  But  she  tried  to  turn 
her  thoughts  into  another  channel. 

"Mr.  Sutherland  loved  you  very  much,  Miss  Cameron." 

"  He  loved  me  once,"  said  poor  Euphra,  with  a  sigh. 

"I  saw  he  did.  That  was  why  I  began  to  love  you 
too." 

Margaret  had  at  last  unwittingly  opened  the  door  of  her 
secret.  She  had  told  the  other  reason  for  loving  Euphra. 
But,  naturally  enough,  Euphra  could  not  understand  what  she^ 
meant.  Perhaps  some  of  my  readers,  understanding  Margaret's 
words  perfectly,"  and  their  reference  too,  may  be  so  far  from 
understanding  Margaret  herself,  as  to  turn  upon  me  and  say:  — 

' '  Impossible  !  You  cannot  have  understood  her  or  any  other 
woman." 

Well ! 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Margaret?  " 

Margaret  both  blushed  and  laughed  outright. 

"■  I  must  confess  it,"  said  she  at  once  ;  "it  cannot  hurt  him 
now  :  my  tutor  and  yours  are  the  same." 

"  Impossible  !  " 

"  True." 

"  And  you  never  spoke  all  the  time  you  were  both  at  Arn- 
stead  ?  " 

"  Not  once.     He  never  knew  I  was  in  the  house." 

' '  How  strange  !     And  you  saw  he  loved  me  ?  ' ' 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  were  not  jealous  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  that.  But  I  soon  found  that  the  only  way 
to  escape  from  my  jealousy,  if  the  feeling  I  had  was  jealousy, 
was  to  love  you  too.     I  did." 

"  You  beautiful  creature  !  But  you  could  not  have  loved 
him  much." 

"  I  loved  him  enough  to  love  you  for  his  sake.     But  why 


894  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

(lid  he  stop  loving  jou  ?     I  fear  I  shall  nut  be  able  to  love  him 
so  much  now." 

"  He  could  not  help  it,  Margaret.     I  deserved  it." 

Euphra  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  lie  could  not  have  really  loved  you,  then?  " 

"  Which  is  better  to  believe,  Margaret,"  said  Euphra,  un- 
covering her  face,  which  two  tears  were  lingering  down,  and 
looking  up  at  her,  —  "that  he  never  loved  me,  or  that  he 
stopped  loving  me  ?  " 

"  For  his  sake,  the  first." 

''  And  for  my  sake,  the  second  ?  " 

''■  That  depends." 

"  So  it  does.  He  must  have  found  plenty  of  faults  in  me. 
But  I  Avas  not  so  bad  as  he  thought  me  when  he  stopped  loving 
me." 

Margaret's  answer  was  one  of  her  loving  smiles,  in  which 
her  eyes  had  more  share  than  her  lips. 

It  would  have  been  unendurable  to  Euphra,  a  little  while 
before,  to  find  that  she  had  a  rival  in  a  servant.  Noav  she 
scarcely  regarded  that  aspect  of  her  position.  But  she  looked 
doubtfully  at  Margaret,  and  then  said  :  — 

"  How  is  it  that  you  take  it  so  quietly?  —  for  your  love 
must  have  been  very  different  from  mine.  Indeed,  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  loved  him* at  all ;  and  after  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  it  quite,  it  did  not  hurt  me  so  very  much.  But  you 
must  have  loved  him  dreadfully." 

"  Perhaps  I  did.      But  I  had  no  anxiety  about  it." 

"But  that  you  could  not  leave  to  a  father  such  as  yours 
even  to  settle." 

"  No.  But  I  could  to  God.  I  could  trust  God  with  what 
I  could  not  speak  to  my  father  about.  He  is  my  father's  Father, 
you  know ;  and  so  more  to  him  and  me  than  we  could  be  to 
each  other.  The  more  we  love  God,  the  more  we  love  each 
other  ;  for  we  find  he  makes  the  very  love  vfhich  sometimes  we 
foolishly  fear  to  do  injustice  to,  by  loving  him  most.  I  love 
my  father  ten  times  more  because  he  loves  God,  and  because 
God  has  secrets  with  him." 

"  I  wish  God  were  a  Father  to  me  as  he  is  to  you,  Margaret." 

"  But  he  is  your  Father,  whether  you  wish  it  or  not.  He 
cannot  be  moie  your  Father  than  he  is.     You  may  be  more  his 


DAVI%  ELGINBROD.  895 

child  than  you  are,  but  not  more  than  he  meant  you  to  be,  nor 
more  than  he  made  you  for.  You  are  infinitely  more  his  child 
than  you  have  grown  to  yet.  He  made  you  altogether  his 
child,  but  you  have  not  given  in  to  it  yet." 

•'  Oh  !  yes ;   I  know  Avhat  you  mean.     I  feel  it  is  true." 

"The  Pi'odi^al  Son  was  his  father's  child.  He  knew  it, 
and  gave  in  to  it.  He  did  not  say,  '  I  wish  my  father  loved 
nie  enough  to  treat  me  like  a  child  again.'  He  did  not  say 
that,  but  —  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father.'''' 

Euphra  made  no  answer,  but  wept.     Margaret  said  no  more. 

Euphra  was  the  first  to  resume. 

' '  Mr.  Sutherland  was  very  kind,  Margaret.  He  promised 
—  and  I  know  he  will  keep  his  promise  —  to  do  all  he  could  to 
help  me.     I  hope  he  is  finding  out  where  that  wicked  count  is." 

'•  Write  to  him,  and  ask  him  to  come  and  see  you.  He  does 
not  know  where  you  are." 

•'  But  I  don't  know  where  he  is." 

"I  do." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  rejoined  Euphra,  with  sonlfe  surprise. 

"But  he  does  not  know  where  I  am.  I  will  give  you  his 
address,  if  you  like." 

Euphra  pondei-ed  a  little.  She  would  have  liked  very  much 
to  see  him,  for  she  was  anxious  to  know  of  his  success.  The 
love  she  had  felt  for  him  was  a  very  small  obstacle  to  their 
meeting  now  ;  for  her  thoughts  had  been  occupied  with  afi'airs, 
before  the  interest  of  which  the  poor  love  she  had  then  been 
capable  of  had  melted  away  and  vanished,  —  vanished,  that  is 
in  all  that  was  restrictive  and  engrossing  in  its  character. 
But  now  that  she  knew  the  relation  that  had  existed  between 
Margaret  and  him.  she  shrunk  from  doing  anything  that  might 
seem  to  Margaret  to  give  Euphra  an  opportunity  of  regaining 
his  preference.  Not  that  she  had  herself  the  smallest  hope, 
even  had  she  had  the  "smallest  desire  of  doing  so ;  but  she 
would  not  even  suggest  the  idea  of  being  Max'garet's  rival. 
At  length  she  answered  :  — 

"  Xo,  thank  you,  Margaret.      As  soon  as  he  has  anything 
to  report,  he  will  write  to  Arnstead,  and  Mrs.  Horton  will  for- 
ward me  the  letter.     No  — it  is  quite  unnecessary." 
.   Euphra's  health  was  improving  a  little,  though  still  she  was 
far  from  strong. 


S96  DAVID    ELGIJIBROD. 


CHAPTER  LXIIL 


FOREBODINGS. 


Faust.  If  heaven  was  made  for  man,  'twas  made  for  me. 

Good  Angel.  Faustus,  repent  ;  yet  Heaven  will  pity  thee. 

Bad  Angel.  Thou  art  a  spirit,  God  cannot  pity  thee. 

Faust.  Be  I  a  devil,  yet  God  may  pity  me. 

Bad  Angel.  Too  late. 

Good  Angel.  Never  too  late  if  Faustus  will  repent. 

Bad  Angel.  If  thou  repent,  devils  will  tear  thee  in  pieces. 


Old  Man.        I  see  an  angel  hover  o'er  thy  head, 

And  with  a  vial  full  of  precious  grace, 
Offers  to  pour  the  same  into  thy  soul. 

Marlowe.  —  Doctor  Fattstus. 

Mr.  Appleditch  had  had  some  business-misfortunes,  not  of  u 
heavy  nature,  but  sufficient  to  cast  a  gloom  over  the  house  in 
Dervish  Town,  and  especially  over  the  face  of  his  spouse,  who 
had  set  her  heart  on  a  new  carpet  for  her  drawing-room,  and 
feared  she  ought  not  to  procure  it  now.  It  is  wonderful  how 
conscientious  some  people  are  towards  their  balance  at  the 
banker's.  How  the  drawing-room,  however,  could  Qome  to 
want  a  new  carpet  is  something  mysterious,  except  there  is  a 
peculiar  power  of  decay  inherent  in  things  deprived  of  use. 
These  influences  operating,  however,  she  began  to  think  that 
the  two  scions  of  grocery  were  not  drawing  nine  shillings' 
worth  a  week  of  the  sap  of  divinity.  This  she  hinted  to  Mr. 
Appleditch.     It  was  resolved  to  give  Hugh  warning. 

As  it  would  involve  some  awkwardness  to  state  reasons, 
Mrs.  Appleditch  resolved  to  quarrel  Avith  him,  as  the  easiest 
way  of  prefacing  his  discharge.  It  was  the  way  she  took  with 
her  maids-of-all-work ;  for  it  was  grand  in  itself,  and  always  left 
her  with  a  comfortable  feeling  of  injured  dignity. 

As  a  preliminary  coui'se,  she  began'  to  treat  him  with  still 
less  politeness  than  before.  Hugh  was  so  careless  of  her  be- 
havior, that  this  made  no  impression  upon  him.  But  he  came 
to  understand  it  all  afterwards,  from  putting  together  the  re- 
marks of  the  children,  and  the  partial  communications  of  Mr. 
Appleditch  to  Miss  Talbot,  which  that  good  lady  innocently 
imparted  to  her  lodger. 

At  length,  one  day,  she  came  into  the  room  where  Hugh 


DAVID    ELGINBROU.  397 

was  more  busy  in  teaching  than  his  pupils  were  in  learning, 
and  seated  herself  by  the  fire  to  watch  for  an  opportunity. 
This  was  soon  found.  For  the  boys,  rendered  still  more  in- 
attentive by  the  presence  of  their  mother,  could  not  be  induced 
to  fix  the  least  thought  upon  the  matter  in  hand ;  so  that 
Hugh  was  compelled  to  go  over  the  same  thing  again  and  again, 
without  success.     At  last  he  said  : — 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Appleditch,  I  must  ask  you  to  interfere, 
for  I  cannot  get  any  attention  from  the  boys  to-day." 

"  And  how  could  it  be  otherwise,  Mr.  Sutherland,  when  you 
keep  wearing  them  out  with  going  over  and  over  the  same 
thing,  till  they  are  sick  of  it  ?     Why  don't  you  go  on  ?  " 

"How  can  I  go  on  when  they  have  not  learned  the  thing 
they  are  at  ?  That  would  be  to  build  the  chimneys  before  the 
walls." 

"It  is  very  easy  to  be  wittj,  sir ;  but  I  beg  you  will  behava 
more  respectfully  to  me  in  the  presence  of  my  children,  inno- 
cent lambs !  '" 

Looking  round  at  the  moment,  Hugh  caught  in  his  face 
what  the  eldest  lamb  had  intended  for  his  back,  —  a  grimace  hide- 
ous enough  to  have  procured  him  instant  promotion  in  the 
kingdom  of  apes.     The  mother  saw  it  too,  and  added  : — 

"  You  see  you  cannot  make  them  respect  you.  Really,  Mr. 
Sutherland  !  " 

Hugh  was  about  to  reply,  to  the  efiect  that  it  was  useless, 
in  such  circumstances,  to  attempt  teaching  them  at  all,  some 
utterance  of  which  sort  was  watched  for  as  the  occasion  for  his 
instant  dismission ;  but  at  that  very  moment  a  carriage  and  pair 
pulled  shai'ply  up  at  the  door,  Avith  more  than  the  usual  amount 
of  quadrupedation^  and  mother  and  sons  darted  simultaneously 
to  the  window. 

"  My  !  "  cried  Johnnie,  "  what  a  rum  go  !  Isn't  that  a  jolly 
carriage,  Peetie?" 

"  Papa's  bought  a  carriage  !  "  shouted  Peetie. 

"  Be  quiet,  children,"  said  their  mother,  as  she  saw  a  foot- 
man get  down  and  approach  the  door. 

"  Look  at  that  bufier,"  said  Johnnie.  "Do  come  and  see 
this  grand  footman,  Mr.  Sutherland.     He's  such  a  gentleman  !  " 

A  box  on  the  ear  from  his  mother  silenced  him.  The  ser- 
vant, entering  with  some  perturbation  a  moment   after,   ad- 


898  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

dressed  her  mistress,  for  she  dared  not  address  any  one  else 
while  she  was  in  the  room  : — 

"  Please' m,  the  carriage  is  astin'  after  Mr.  Sutherland." 

"Mr.  Sutherland?" 

"Yes'm." 

The  ladj  turned  to  Mr.  Sutherland,  who,  although  surprised 
as  well,  was  not  inclined  to  show  his  surprise  to  Mrs.  Apple- 
ditch. 

"I  did  not  know  you  had  carriage-friends,  Mr.  Suther- 
land," said  she,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Neither  did  I,"  answered  Hugh.  "  But  I  will  go  and  see 
who  it  is." 

When  he  reached  the  street,  he  found  Harry  on  the  pave- 
ment, who,  having  got  out  of  the  carriage,  and  not  having  been 
asked  into  the  house,  was  unable  to  stand  still  from  impatience. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  his  tutor,  he  bounded  to  him,  and  threw 
his  arms  round  his  neck,  standing  as  they  were  in  the  open 
street.     Tears  of  delight  filled  his  eyes. 

"  Come,  come,  come,"  said  Harry ;    "we  all  want  you." 

"  Who  wants  me?  " 

"  Mrs.  Elton  and  Euphra  and  me.      Come,  get  in." 

And  he  pulled  Hugh  towards  the  carriage. 

"I  cannot  go  with  you  now.     I  have  pupils  here." 

Harry's  face  fell. 

"  When  will  you  come  ?  " 

"  In  half  an  hour." 

"  Hurrah  !  I  shall  be  back  exactly  in  half  an  hour  then. 
Do  be  ready,  please,  Mr.  Sutherland." 

"I  win." 

Harry  jumped  into  the  carriage,  telling  the  coachman  to 
drive  where  he  pleased,  and  be  back  at  the  same  place  in  half 
an  hour.     Hugh  returned  into  the  house. 

As  may  be  supposed,  Margaret  was  the  means  of  this  happy 
meeting.  Although  she  saw  plainly  enough  that  Euphra 
would  like  to  see  Hugh,  she  did  not  for  some  time  make  up 
her  mind  to  send  for  him.  The  circumstances  which  made  her 
resolve  to  do  so  were  these  : — 

For  some  days  Euphra  seemed  to  be  gradually  regaining  her 
health  and  composure  of  mind.  One  evening,  after  a  longer 
talk  than  usual,  Margaret  had  left  her  in  bed,  and  had  gone 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  399 

to  her  own  room.  She  was  just  preparing  to  get  into  bed  her- 
self, when  a  knock  at  her  door  startled  her,  and,  going  to  it, 
she  saw  Euphra  standing  there,  pale  as  death,  with  nothing  on 
her  but  her  night-gown,  notwithstanding  the  bitter  cold  of  an 
early  and  severe  frost.  She  thought  at  first  she  must  be  walk- 
ing in  her  sleep,  but  the  scared  intelligence  of  her  open  eyes 
soon  satisfied  her  that  it  was  not  so 

•'What  is  the  matter,  dear  Miss  Cameron?"  she  said,  as 
calmly  as  she  could. 

"He  is  coming.  He  wants  me.  If  he  calls  me,  I 
must  go." 

"  No,  jou  shall  not  go,"  rejoined  Margaret,  firmly. 

"I  must,  I  must,"  answered  Euphra;   wringing  her  hands. 

"  Do  come  in,"  said  Margaret;  "you  must  not  stand  there 
in  the  cold." 

"  Let  me  get  into  your  bed." 

"  Better  let  me  go  with  you  to  yours.  That  will  be  more 
comfortable  for  you." 

"Oh,  yes  ;   please  do." 

Margaret  threw  a  shawl  round  Euphra,  and  went  back  with 
her  to  her  room. 

"He  wants  me.  He  wants  me.  He  will  call  me  soon," 
said  Euphra,  in  an  agonized  whisper,  as  soon  as  the  door  was 
shut.      "  What  s/ia??  I  do  ?  " 

"  Come  to  bed  first,  and  we  will  talk  about  it  there." 

As  soon  as  they  were  in  bed,  Margaret  put  her  arm  round 
Euphra,  who  was  trembling  Avith  cold  and  fear,  and  said  :  — 

"  Has  this  man  any  right  to  call  you?  " 

"No,  no,"  answered  Euphra,  vehemently. 

"Then  don't  go/' 

"  But  I  am  afraid  of  him." 

"  Defy  him,  in  Gods  name." 

"But,  besides  the  fear,  there  is  something  thatlcan't  describe, 
that  always  keeps  telling  me  —  no,  not  telling  me,  pushing 
me  —  no,  drawing  me,  as  if  I  could  not  rest  a  moment  till  I 
go.  I  cannot  describe  it.  I  hate  to  go.  and  yet  I  feel  that  if 
I  were  cold  in  my  grave,  I  must  rise  and  go  if  he  called  me. 
I  wish  I  could  tell  you  what  it  is  like.  It  is  as  if  some  demon 
were  shaking  my  soul  till  I  yielded  and  went.  Oh  !  don't 
despise  me.     I  can't  help  it." 


400  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  Mj  darling,  I  don't,  I  can't,  despise  you.  You  shall  not 
go  to  him." 

"But  I  must,"  answered  she,  with  a  despairing  faintness 
more  convincing  than  any  vehemence ;  and  then  began  to  weep 
with  a  slow,  hopeless  weeping,  like  the  rain  of  a  November 
eve. 

Margaret  got  out  of  bed.  Euphra  thought  she  was  offended. 
Starting  up,  she  clasped  her  hands,  and  said  :  — 

"0  Margaret !  I' won't  crj.  Don't  leave  me.  Don't  leave 
me." 

She  entreated  like  a  chidden  child. 

"No,  no,  I  didn't  mean  to  leave  you  for  a  moment.     Lie 
down  again,  dear,  and  cry  as  much  as  you  like.     I  am  going 
to  read  a  little  bit  out  of  the  New  Testament  to  you." 
"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  listen  to  it." 
"Never  mind.     Don't  try.      I  want  to  read  it." 
Margaret  got  a  New  Testament,  and  read  part  of  that  chap- 
ter of  St.  John's  Gospel  which  speaks  about  human  labor  and 
the  bread  of  life.      She  stopped  at  these  words  :  — 

"  For  I  came  doAvn  from  heaven,  not  to  do  mine  own  will, 
but  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me." 

Euphra's  tears  had  ceased.  The  sound  of  Margaret's  voice, 
which,  if  it  lost  in  sweetness  by  becoming  more  Scotch  when 
she  read  the  gospel,  yet  gained  thereby  in  pathos,  and 
the  power  of  the  blessed  words  themselves  had  soothed  the 
troubled  spirit  a  little,  and  she  lay  quiet. 

"  The  count  is  not  a  good  man.  Miss  Cameron  ?  " 
"  You  know  he  is  not,  Margaret.    He  is  the  worst  man  alive." 
"  Then  it  cannot  be  God's  will  that  you  should  go  to  him." 
"  But  one  does  many  things  that  are  not  God's  will." 
"  But  it  is  God's  will  that  you  should  not  go  to  him." 
Euphra  lay  silent  for  a  few  moments.      Suddenly  she  ex- 
claimed, "Then  I  must   not  go  to   him,"  — got  out  of  bed, 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside,  and,  holding  up  her 
clasped  hands,  said,  in  low  tones  that  sounded  as  if  forced  from 
her  by  agony :  — 

"I  won't !  I  won't !  0  God,  I  will  not.  Help  me,  help 
me!" 

Margaret  knelt  beside  her,  and  put  her  arm  round  her. 
Euphra  spoke  no  more,  but  remained  kneeling,  with  her  ex- 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  401 

tended  arms  and  clasped  hands  lying  on  the  bed,  and  her  hea(i 
hk\  between  them.  At  length,  Margaret  grew  alarmed,  and 
looked  at  her.  But  she  found  that  she  was  in  a  sweet  sleep. 
She  gently  disengaged  herself,  and,  covering  her  up  soft  and 
warm,  left  her  to  sleep  out  her  God-sent  sleep  undisturbed, 
Avhile  ^he  sat  beside,  and  watched  for  her  waking. 

She  slept  thus  for  an  hour.  Then  lifting  her  head,  and  see- 
ing Margaret,  she  rose  quietly,  as  if  from  her  prayers,  and 
said  with  a  smile  :  — 

"  Mariraret.  I  was  dreaming  that  I  had  a  mother." 

"  So  you  have,  somewhere." 

"  Yes,  so  I  have,  somewhere,"  she  repeated,  and  crept  into 
bed  like  a  child,  lay  down,  and  was  asleep  again  in  a  moment. 

JNIargaret  watched  her  for  another  hour,  and  then,  seeing  no 
signs  of  restlessness,  but  that  on  the  contrary  her  sleep  was 
profound,  lay  down  beside  her,  and  soon  shared  in  that  repose 
which  to  weary  w'omen  and  men  is  God's  best  gift. 

She  rose  at  her  usual  hour  the  next  day,  and  was  dressed 
before  Euphra  awoke.  It  was  a  cold  gray  December  morning, 
with  the  hoar-frost  lying  thick  on  the  roofs  of  the  houses. 
Euphra  opened  her  eyes  while  Margaret  was  busy  lighting  the 
fire.  Seeing  that  she  was  there,  she  closed  them  again,  and 
fell  once  more  fast  asleep.  Before  she  woke  again,  Margaret 
had  some  tea  ready  for  her;  after  taking  which,  she  felt  able 
to  get  up.  She  rose  looking  more  briglit  and  hopeful  than 
Margaret  had  seen  her  before. 

But  Margaret,  who  watched  her  intently  through  the  day, 
saw  a  change  come  over  her  cheer.  Her  face  grew  pale  and 
troubled.  Now  and  then  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy ;  and 
again  she  would  look  at  Margaret  with  a  woe-begone  expression 
of  countenance ;  but  presently,  as  if  recollecting  herself,  would 
smile  and  look  clieerful  for  a  moment.  Margaret  saw  that  the 
conflict  was  coming  on,  if  not  already  begun,  —  that  at  least  its 
shadow  was  upon  her ;  and  thinking  that  if  she  could  have  a 
talk  with  Hugh  about  what  he  had  been  doing,  it  Avould  com- 
fort her  a  little,  and  divert  her  thoughts  from  herself,  even  if 
no  farther  or  moi-e  pleasantly  than  to  the  count,  she  let  Hai-ry 
know  Hugh's  address,  as  given  in  the  letter  to  her  father.  She 
was  certain  that,  if  Harry  succeeded  in  finding  him,  nothing 
more  was  necessary  to  insure  his  being  brought  to  Mrs.  Elton's. 
26 


402  DAVID    ELGINBROD, 

As  we  have  seen,  Harry  had  traced  him  to  Buccleuch  Ter- 
race. 

Hugh  re-entered  the  house  in  the  same  mind  in  which  he  had 
gone  3ut ;  namely,  that  after  Mrs.  Appleditch's  behavior  to 
him  before  his  pupils,  he  could  not  remain  their  tutor  any 
longer,  however  great  his  need  might  be  of  the  pittance  he 
received  for  his  services. 

But  although  Mrs.  Appleditch's  first  feeling  had  been  jeal- 
ousy of  Hugh's  acquaintance  with  "carriage  people,"  the 
toadyism  which  is  so  essential  an  element  of  such  jealousy 
had  by  this  time  revived  ;  and  when  Hugh  was  proceeding  to 
finish  the  lesson  he  had  begun,  intending  it  to  be  his  last,  she 
said :  — 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  your  friend  into  the  drawing-room, 
Mr.  Sutherland?" 

"  Good  gracious  !  The  drawing-room  !  "  thought  Hugh  — 
but  answered,  "  He  will  fetch  me  when  the  lesson  is  over." 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  any  friends  of  yours  that  like  to  call  upon 
you  here  will  be  very  welcoixic.  It  will  be  more  agreeable  to 
you  to  receive  them  here,  of  course ;  for  your  accommodation 
at  poor  Miss  Talbot's  is  hardly  suitable  for  such  visitors." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  however,"  answered  Hugh,  '•  that  after 
the  way  you  have  spoken  to  me  to-day,  in  the  presence  of  my 
pupils,  I  cannot  continue  my  relation  to  them  any  longer." 

"  Ho  !  ho!  "  retorted  the  lady,  indignation  and  scorn  ming- 
ling with  mortification  ;  "  our  grand  visitors  have  set  our  backs 
up.  Very  well,  Mr.  Sutherland,  you  Avill  oblige  me  by  leav- 
ing the  house  at  once.  Don't  trouble  yourself,  pray,  to  finish 
the  lesson.  I  will  pay  you  for  it  all  the  same.  Anything  to 
get  rid  of  a  man  who  insults  me  before  the  very  faces  of  my 
innocent  lambs  !  And  please  to  remember,"  she  added,  as  she 
pulled  out  her  purse,  while  Hugh  was  collecting  some  books  he 
had  lent  the  boys,  "that  when  you  were  starving,  my  husband 
and  I  took  you  in  and  gave  you  employment  out  of  charity  — 
pure  charity,  Mr.  Sutherland.     Here  is  your  money." 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Appleditch,"  said  Hugh  :  and  walked 
out  with  his  books  under  his  arm,  leaving  her  with  the  money 
in  her  hand. 

He  had  to  knock  his  feet  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  the 
house,  to  keep  them  from  freezing,  for  half  an  hour,  before  the 


DAVID    ELGIXBROD.  403 

carriage  arrived  to  take  him  away.  As  soon  as  it  came  up, 
he  jumped  into  it,  and  was  carried  off  in  triumph  by  Harrj. 

Mrs.  Elton  received  him  kindlj.  Euphra  held  out  her  hand 
with  a  slight  blush,  and  the  quiet  familiarity  of  an  old  friend. 
Hugh  could  almost  have  fallen  in  love  with  her  again,  from 
compassion  for  her  pale,  worn  face,  and  subdued  expression. 

Mrs.  Elton  went  out  in  the  carriage  almost  directly,  and 
Euphra  begged  Harry  to  leave  them  alone,  as  she  had  some- 
thing to  talk  to  Mr.  Sutherland  about. 

"  Have  you  found  any  trace  of  Count  Halkar,  Hugh?  "  she 
said,  the  moment  they  were  by  themselves. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  say  I  have  not.    I  have  done  my  best." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  of  that.  I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  that, 
from  certain  indications,  which  no  one  could  understand  so  well 
as  myself,  I  think  you  will  have  more  chance  of  finding  him 
now." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  responded  Hugh.  "  If  I  only 
had  him  !  " 

Euphra  sighed,  paused,  and  then  said :  — 

' '  But  I  am  not  sure  of  it.  I  think  he  is  in  London ;  but 
he  may  be  in  Bohemia,  for  anything  I  know.  I  shall,  how- 
ever, in  all  probability,  know  more  about  him  within  a  few 
days." 

Hugh  resolved  to  go  at  once  to  Falconer,  and  communicate 
to  him  what  Euphra  had  told  him.  But  he  said  nothing  to 
her  as  to  the  means  by  which  he  had  tried  to  discover  the 
count ;  for  altbouo;h  he  felt  ;::ure  that  he  had  done  right  in  tell- 
ing  Falconer  all  about  it,  he  was  afraid  lest  Euphra,  not  know- 
ing what  sort  of  a  man  he  was,  might  not  like  it.  Euphra,  on 
her  part,  did  not  mention  Margaret's  name ;  for  she  had 
begged  her  not  to  do  so. 

'•  You  will  tell  me  when  you  know  yourself?  " 

"  Perhaps.  I  will,  if  I  can.  I  do  wish  you  could  get  the 
ring.    I  have  a  painful  feeling  that  it  gives  him  power  over  me." 

'•That  can  only  be  a  nervous  fancy,  surely,"  Hugh  ven- 
tured to  say. 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  I  don't  know.  But  still,  without  that,  there 
are  plenty  of  reasons  for  wishing  to  recover  it.  He  will  put 
it  to  a  bad  use,  if  he  can.  But  for  your  sake,  especially,  I 
wish  we  could  get  it." 


404  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

"  Thank  you.     You  were  always  kind." 

"  No."  she  replied,  without  lifting  her  eyes ;  "I  brought  it 
all  upon  you." 

"  But  you  could  not  help  it." 

"  Not  at  the  moment.     But  all  that  led  to  it  was  my  fault." 

She  paused  ;   then  suddenly  resumed  :  — 

"  I  will  confess.  Do  you  know  what  gave  rise  to  the  reports 
of  the  house  being  haunted?  " 

"No." 

' '  It  was  me  wandering  about  it  at  night,  looking  for  that  very 
ring;,  to  give  to  the  count.  It  was  shameful.  But  I  did. 
Those  reports  prevented  me  from  being  found  out.  But  I  hope 
not  many  ghosts  are  so  miserable  as  I  was.  You  remember 
my  speaking  to  you  of  Mr.  Arnold's  jewels?  " 

"Yes,  perfectly." 

"  I  wanted  to  find  out,  through  you,  where  the  ring  was. 
But  I  had  no  intention  of  involving  you." 

"  I  am  sure  you  had  not." 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  anything  about  me.  I  don't  know 
what  I  might  have  been  led  to  do.  But  I  am  very  sorry. 
Do  forgive  me." 

"  I  cannot  allow  that  I  have  anything  to  forgive.  But  tel) 
me,  Euphra,  were  you  the  creature  in  white  that  I  saw  in  the 
Ghost's  Walk  one  night?     I  don't  mean  the  last^time." 

"  Very  likely,"  she  answered,  bending  her  head  yet  lower, 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Then  who  was  the  creature  in  black  that  met  you?  Ano 
what  became  of  you  then?  " 

"Did  you  see  7ier  .'^  "  rejoined  Euphra,  turning  paler  still. 
"  I  fainted  at  sight  of  her.  I  took  her  for  the  nun  that  hangs 
in  that  horrid  room." 

"So  did  I,"  said  Hugh.  "But  you  could  not  have  lain 
long ;  for  I  went  up  to  the  spot  where  you  vanished,  and 
found  nothing." 

"  I  suppose  I  got  into  the  shrubbery  before  I  fell.  Or  the 
count  dragged  me  in.  But  was  that  really  a  ghost?  I  feel 
now  as  if  it  was  a  good  messenger,  whether  ghost  or  not,  come 
to  warn  me,  if  I  had  had  the  courage  to  listen.  I  wish  I  had 
taken  the  warning." 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  405 

They  talked  about  these  and  other  things,  till  Mrs.  Elton, 
who  had  made  Hugh  promise  to  stay  to  lunch,  returned. 
When  they  were  seated  at  table,  the  kind-hearted  woman 
said  :  — 

"Now,  Mr.  Sutherland,  when  will  you  begin  again  with 
Harry?" 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  you,"  answered  Hugh. 

"Of  course  you  will  come  and  give  him  lessons,  poor  boy. 
He  will  be  broken-hearted  if  you  don't." 

"I  wish  I  could.  But  I  cannot  —  at  least  yet;  for  I 
know  his  father  was  dissatisfied  with  me.  That  was  one  of 
the  reasons  that  made  him  send  Harry  to  London." 

Harry  looked  wretchedly  disappointed,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  never  heard  him  say  anything  of  the  sort." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  though.  I  am  very  sorry  he  has  mis- 
taken me ;  but  he  will  know  me  better  some  day." 

"I  will  take  all  the  responsibility,"  persisted  Mrs.  Elton. 

"  But  unfortunately  the  responsibility  sticks  too  fast  for 
you  to  take  it.     I  cannot  get  rid  of  my  share,  if  I  would." 

"  You  are  too  particular.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Arnold  never 
could  have  meant  that.     This  is  my  house  too." 

"  But  Harry  is  his  boy.  If  you  will  let  me  come  and  see 
him  sometimes,  I  shall  be  very  thankful,  though.  I  may  be 
useful  to  him  without  giving  him  lessons." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Harry,  with  delight. 

"Well,  well!  I  suppose  you  are  so  much  in  request  in 
London  that  you  won't  miss  him  for  a  pupil." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  not  a  single  engagement.  If  you 
could  find  me  one,  I  should  be  exceedingly  obliged  to  you." 

"  Dear  !  dear  !  dear  !  "  said  Mrs.  Elton.  "  Then  you  shall 
have  Harry." 

"  Oh  !  yes  ;  please  take  me,"  said  Harry,  beseechingly. 

"  No,  I  cannot.     I  must  not." 

Mrs.  Elton  rang  the  bell. 

"James,  tell  the  coachman  I  want  the  carriage  in  an 
hour." 

Mrs.  Elton  was  as  submissive  to  her  coachman  as  ladies  who 
have  carriages  generally  are,  and  would  not  have  dreamed  of 
orderino;  the  horses  out  so  soon  aojain  for  herself;  but  she  for- 
got  everything  else  when  a  friend  was  in  need  of  help,   and 


406  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

became  perfectly  ijacliydermatous  to  the  offended  looks  or 
indijinant  liints  of  that  important  functionary. 

Within  a  few  minutes  after  Hugh  took  his  leave,  Mrs. 
Elton  was  on  her  way  to  repeat  a  visit  she  had  already  paid 
the  same  morning,  and  to  make  several  other  calls,  with  the 
express  object  of  finding  pupils  for  Hugh.  But  in  this  she 
was  not  so  successful  as  sh6  had  expected.  In  fact,  no  one 
whom  she  could  think  of  wanted  such  services  at  present. 
She  returned  home  quite  down-hearted,  and  all  but  convinced 
that  nothing  could  be  done  before  the  approach  of  the  Loudon 
season. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

STRIFE. 


They'll  turn  mo  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

An  adder  and  a  snake; 
But  hand  me  fast,  let  me  not  pass, 

Gin  ye  would  be  my  maik. 

They'll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

An  adder  and  an  aske; 
They'll  turn  mo  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

A  bale  that  burns  fast. 

They'll  shape  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

A  dove,  but  and  a  swan; 
And  last,  they'll  shape  me  in  your  arms 

A  mother-naked  man: 
Cast  your  green  mantle  over  me  — 

An  sae  shall  I  be  wan. 


Scotch  Ballad:  Tamlanc. 

As  soon  as  Hugh  had  left  the  house,  Margaret  hastened  to 
Euphra.  She  found  her  in  her  own  room,  a  little  more  cheer- 
ful, but  still  strangely  depressed.  This  appearance  increased 
towards  the  evening,  till  her  looks  became  quite  haggard, 
revealing  an  inAvard  conflict  of  growing  agony.  Margaret 
remained  with  her. 

Just  before  dinner,  the  upstairs  bell,  whose  summons 
Margaret  was  accustomed  to  obey,  rang,  and  she  went  down. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  407 

Mrs.  Elton  detained  her  for  a  few  minutes.  The  moment  she 
was  at  liberty,  she  flew  to  Euphra's  room  by  the  back  stair- 
case. But,  as  she  ascended,  she  was  horrified  to  meet  Euphra, 
in  a  cloak  and  thick  veil,  creeping  down  the  staii'S  like  a  tliief. 
Without  saying  a  word,  the  strong  girl  lifted  her  in  her  arms 
as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  and  carried  her  back  to  her  room. 

Euphra  neither  struggled  nor  spoke.  Margaret  laid  her  on 
her  couch,  and  sat  down  beside  her.  She  lay  without  moving, 
and,  although  wide  awake,  gave  no  other  sign  of  existence 
than  an  occasional  low  moan,  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  heart 
pressed  almost  to  death. 

Having  lain  thus  for  an  hour,  she  broke  the  silence, 

"  Margaret,  dg  you  despise  me  dreadfully?  " 

"  No,  not  in  the  least." 

"  Yet  you  found  me  going  to  do  what  I  knew  was  wrong." 

"  You  had  not  made  yourself  strong  by  thinking  about  the 
will  of  God.     Had  you,  dear?  " 

"No.  I  will  tell  you  how  it  was.  I  had  been  tormented 
with  the  inclination  to  go  to  him,  and  had  been  resisting  it  till 
I  was  worn  out,  and  could  hardly  bear  it  more.  Suddenly  all 
grew  calm  within  me,  and  I  seemed  to  hate  Count  Halkar  no 
longer.  I  thought  with  myself  how  easy  it  would  be  to  put  a 
stop  to  this  dreadful  torment,  just  by  yielding  to  it  —  onl}'' 
this  once.  I  thought  I  should  then  be  stron";er  to  resist  the 
next  time  ;  for  this  was  wearing  me  out  so,  that  I  must  yield 
the  next  time,  if  I  persisted  now.  But  what  seemed  to  justify 
me,  Avas  the  thought  that  so  I  should  find  out  where  he  was, 
and  be  able  to  tell  Hugh  ;  and  then  he  would  get  the  ring  for 
me,  and  perhaps  that  would  deliver  rae.  But  it  was  very 
wrong  of  me.  I  forgot  all  about  the  will  of  God.  I  will  not 
go  again,  Margaret.  Do  you  think  I  may  try  again  to  fight 
him?" 

"That  is  just  what  you  must  do.  All  that  God  requires 
of  you  is  to  try  again.  God's  child  must  be  free.  Do  try, 
dear  Miss  Cameron." 

"I  think  I  could,  if  you  would  call  me  Euphra.  You  are 
so  strong,  and  pure,  and  good,  Margaret !  I  wish  I  had 
never  had  any  though t'5  but  such  as  you  have,  you  beautiful 
creature  !  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  that  you  found  me  !  Do 
watch  me  always." 


408  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

"  1  will  call  you  Euplira.  I  will  be  your  sister-servant  — 
anything  you  like,  if  you  will  only  try  again." 

"  Tiiank  you,  with  all  my  troubled  heart,  dear  Margaret ! 
I  will  indeed  try  again." 

Siie  sprang  from  the  couch  in  a  sudden  agony,  and,  grasping 
Margaret  by  the  arm,  looked  at  her  with  such  a  terror- 
stricken  face,  that  she  began  to  fear  she  was  losing  her 
reason. 

''Margaret,"  she  said,  as  if  with  the  voice  as  of  one  just 
raised  from  the  dead,  speaking  with  all  the  charnel  damps  in 
her  throat,  "  could  it  be  that  I  am  in  love  with  him  still?  " 

Margaret  shuddered,  but  did  not  lose  her  self-possession. 
"No,  no,  Euphra,  darling.     You  were  haunted  with  him, 
and  so  tired  that  you  were  not  able  to  hate  him  any  longer. 
Then  you  began  to  give  way  to  him.     That  was  all.     There 
was  no  love  in  that." 

Euphra' s  grasp  relaxed. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  " 

"Yes." 

A  pause  followed. 

"  Do  you  think  God  cares  to  have  me  do  his  will?  Is  it 
anything  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  Why  did  he  make  you  else?  But  it  is 
not  for  the  sake  of  being  obeyed  that  he  cares  for  it,  but  for 
the  sake  of  serving  you,  and  making  you  blessed  with  his 
blessedness.     He  does  not  think  about  himself,  but  about  you." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !     I  must  not  go." 

"  Let  me  read  to  you  again,  Euphra." 

"  Yes,  please  do,  Margaret." 

She  read  the  fortieth  chapter  of  Isaiah,  one  of  her  father's 
favorite  chapters,  where  all  the  strength  and  knowledge  of 
God  ai-e  urged  to  a  height,  that  they  may  fall  in  overwhelming 
profusion  upon  the  wants  and  fears  and  unbelief  of  his  children. 
How  should  he  that  calleth  the  stars  by  their  names  forget  his 
people  ? 

While  she  read,  the  cloud  melted  away  from  Euphra's  face; 
a  sweet  sleep  followed,  and  the  paroxysm  wac  over  for  the  time. 

Was  Euphra  insane  ?  and  were  these  the  first  accesses  of 
daily  fits  of  madness,  which  had  been  growing  and  approaching 
for  who  could  tell  how  long  ? 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  409 

Even  if  she  were  mad,  or  going  mad,  was  not  this  the  right 
way  to  treat  her  ?  I  wonder  how  often  the  spiritual  cure  of 
faith  in  the  Son  of  Man,  the  Great  Healer,  has  been  tried  on 
those  possessed  with  our  modern  demons.  Is  it  proved  that 
insanity  has  its  origin  in  the  physical  disorder  which,  it  is  now 
Baid,  can  be  shown  to  accompany  it  invariably  ?  Let  it  be  so; 
it  yet  appears  to  me  that  if  the  physician  would,  like  the  Son 
of  Man  himself,  descend  as  it  were  into  the  disorganized  world 
in  which  the  consciousness  of  his  patient  exists,  and  receiving 
as  fact  all  that  he  reveals  to  him  of  its  condition,  —  for  fact  it 
is,  of  a  very  real  sort,  —  introduce,  by  all  the  means  that 
sympathy  can  suggest,  the  one  central  cure  for  evil,  spiritual 
and  material,  namely,  the  truth  of  the  Son  of  Man,  the  vision 
of  the  perfect  Friend  and  Helper,  with  the  revelation  of  the 
promised  liberty  of  obedience,  —  if  he  did  this,  it  seems  to  me 
that  cures  might  still  be  wrought  as  marvellous  as  those  of  the 
ancient  time. 

It  seems  to  me,  too,  that  that  can  be  but  an  imperfect 
religion,  as  it  would  be  a  poor  salvation,  from  which  one  corner 
of  darkness  may  hide  us ;  from  whose  blessed  health  and 
freedom  a  disordered  brain  may  snatch  us ;  making  us  hope- 
less outcasts,  till  first  the  physician,  the  student  of  physical 
laws,  shall  interfere  and  restore  us  to  a  sound  mind,  or  the 
great  God's-angel,  Death,  crumble  the  soul-oppressing  brain, 
with  its  thousand  phantoms  of  pain  and  fear  and  horror,  into  a 
film  of  dust  in  the  hollow  of  the  deserted  skull. 

Hugh  repaired  immediately  to  Falconer's  chambers,  where 
he  was  more  likely  to  find  him  during  the  day  than  in  the 
evening.  He  was  at  home.  He  told  hini  of  his  interview 
with  Euphra,  and  her  feeling  that  the  count  was  not  far  off. 

"  Do  you  think  there  can  be  anything  in  it?"  asked  he, 
when  he  had  finished  his  relation. 

"I  think  very  likely,"  answered  his  friend.  "  I  will  be 
more  on  the  outlook  tiian  ever.  It  may,  after  all,  be  through 
the  lady  herself  that  we  shall  find  the  villain.  If  she  Avere  to 
fall  into  one  of  her  trances,  now,  I  think  it  almost  certain  she 
would  go  to  him.  She  ought  to  be  carefully  watched  and 
followed,  if  that  should  take  place.  Let  me  know  all  that  you 
learn  about  her.     Go  and  see  her  again  to-morrow,  that  we 


410  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

may  be  kept  informed  of  her  experiences,  so  far  as  she  thinks 
proper  to  tell  them." 

"I  will.'*  said  Hugh,  and  took  his  leave. 

But  Maruaret,  who  knew  Euphra's  condition,  both  spiritual 
and  physical,  better  than  any  other,  had  far  different  objects 
for  her,  through  means  of  the  unholy  attraction  which  the 
count  exercised  over  her,  than  the  discovery  of  the  stolen  ring. 
She  was  determined  that  neither  sleeping  nor  waking  should 
she  follow  his  call,  or  dance  to  his  piping.  She  should  resist 
to  the  last,  in  the  name  of  God,  and  so  redeem  her  lost  Avill 
from  the  power  of  this  devil,  to  whom  she  had  foolishly  sold  it. 

The  next  day,  the  struggle  evidently  continued ;  and  it 
had  such  an  effect  on  Euphra,  tha  Margaret  could  not  help 
feeling  very  anxious  about  the  result  as  regarded  her  health, 
even  if  she  should  be  victorious  in  the  contest.  But  not  for 
one  moment  did  Margaret  quail ;  for  she  felt  convinced,  come 
of  it  what  might,  that  the  only  hope  for  Euphra  lay  in  resist- 
ance. Death,  to  her  mind,  was  simply  nothing  in  the  balance 
with  slavery  of  such  a  sort. 

Once  —  but  evidently  in  a  fit  of  absence  —  Euphra  rose, 
went  to  the  door,  and  opened  it.  But  she  instantly  dashed  it 
to  again,  and,  walking  slowly  back,  resumed  her  seat  on  the 
couch.  Margaret  came  to  her  from  the  other  side  of  the  bed, 
where  she  had  been  working  by  the  window  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour,  for  the  sake  of  the  waning  light. 

"  What  is  it,  dear?"  she  said. 

"0  Margaret!  are  you  there?  I  did  not  know  you  were 
in  the  room.  I  found  myself  at  the  door  before  I  knew  what 
I  was  doing." 

"  But  you  came  back  of  yourself  this  time." 

"Yes,  I  did.     But  I  still  feel  inclined  to  go." 

"There  is  no  sin  in  that,  so  long  as  you  do  not  encourage 
the  feeling,  or  yield  to  it." 

"  I  hate  it." 

"  You  will  soon  be  free  from  it.  Keep  on  courageously, 
dear  sister.     You  will  be  in  liberty  and  joy  soon." 

"God  grant  it." 

"  He  will,  Euphra.     lam  sure  he  will." 

"I  am  sure  you  know,  or  you  would  not  say  it." 

4  knock  came  to  the  street  door.     Euphra  started,  and  sal 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  411 

in  the  attitude  of  a  fearful  listener.  A  message  was  presently 
brought  her,  that  Mr.  Sutherland  was  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  wished  to  see  her. 

Euphra  rose  imraediatelj,  and  went  to  him.  Margaret,  who 
did  not  quite  feel  that  she  could  be  trusted  jet,  removed  to  a 
room  behind  the  drawing-room,  whence  she  could  see  Euphra 
if  she  passed  to  go  downstairs. 

Hugh  asked  her  if  she  could  tell  him  anything  more  about 
Count  Halkar. 

"Only,"  she  answered,  "that  I  am  still  surer  of  his  being 
near  me." 

"How  do  you  knew  it  ?" 

"  I  need  not  mind  telling  you,  for  I  have  told  you  before 
that  he  has  a  kind  of  supernatural  power  over  me.  I  know  it 
by  his  drawing  me  towards  him.  It  is  true  I  might  feel  it  just 
the  same  whether  he  was  in  America  or  in  London;  but  I  do 
not  think  he  would  care  to  do  it,  if  he  Avere  so  far  oif.  I 
know  him  well  enough  to  kn^w  that  he  would  not  wish  for  me 
except  for  some  immediate  advantage  to  himself" 

"But  what  is  the  use  of  his  doing  so,  when  you  don't  know 
where  he  is  to  be  found?  " 

' '  I  should  go  straight  to  him,  without  knowing  where  I  was 
going." 

Hugh  rose  in  haste. 

' '  Put  on  your  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  come  with  me.  I  will 
take  care  of  you.  Lead  me  to  him,  and  the  ring  shall  soon 
be  in  your  hands  again." 

Euphra  hesitated,  half  rose,  but  sat  down  immediately, 

"No,  no!  Not  for  worlds,"  she  said.  "Do  not  tempt 
me.     I  must  not  —  I  dare  not  —  I  will  not  go." 

"  But  I  shall  be  with  you.  I  will  take  care  of  you.  Don't 
you  think  I  am  able,   Euphra?  " 

"Oh,  yes!  quite  able.  But  I  must  not  go  anywhere  at 
that  mans  bidding." 

"  But  it  won't  be  at  his  bidding ;   it  Avill  be  at  mine." 

"Ah!  that  alters  the  case  rather,  does  it  not?  I  wonder 
vhat  Margaret  would  say." 

"  Margaret !     What  Margaret?  "   said  Hugh. 

"Oh,  my  new  maid,"  answered  Euphra,  recollecting  her- 
self.     "  Not  being  well  at  present,  she  is  my  nurse." 


412  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

"  We  shall  take  a  cab  as  soon  as  we  get  to  the  corner." 

"I  don't  think  the  count  would  bo  able  to  guide  the  horse," 
said  Euphra,  with  a  smile.  "  I  must  walk.  But  I  should 
like  to  go.  I  will.  It  would  be  such  a  victory  to  catch  him 
in  his  own  toils." 

She  rose  and  ran  upstairs.  In  a  few  minutes  she  came 
down  again,  cloaked  and  veiled.  But  Margaret  met  her  as 
she  descended,  and,  leading  her  into  the  back  drawing-room, 
said: — 

^^  Are  you  going,  Euphra?  " 

"Yes;  but  I  am  going  with  Mr.  Sutherland,"  answered 
Euphra,  in  a  defensive  tone.  "It  is  to  please  him,  and  not  to 
obey  the  count." 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  all  to  please  Mr.  Sutherland?  If  it 
were,  I  don't  think  you  would  be  able  to  guide  him  right.  Is 
it  not  to  get  rid  of  your  suffering  by  yielding  to  temptation, 
Euphra  ?  At  all  events,  if  you  go,  even  should  Mr.  Suther- 
land be  successful  with  him,  you  will  never  feel  that  you  have 
overcome  him,  or  he  that  he  has  lost  you.  He  will  still  hold 
you  fast.     Don't  go.     I  am  sure  you  are  deceiving  yourself" 

Euphra  stood  for  a  moment,  and  pouted  like  a  naughty  child. 
Then,  suddenly  throwing  her  arms  about  Margaret's  neck,  she 
kissed  her,  and  said  :  — 

"I  ivon't  go,  Margaret.  Here,  take  my  things  upstairs 
for  me." 

She  threw  off  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  rejoined  Hugh  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"I  can't  go,"  she  said.  "I  must  not  go.  I  should  be 
yielding  to  him,  and  it  would  make  a  slave  of  me  all  my 
life." 

"It  is  our  only  chance  for  the  ring,"  said  Hugh. 

Again  Euphra  hesitated  and  wavered;  but  again  she  con- 
quered. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  she  said,  "I  Avould  rather  not  have 
the  ring  than  go  — if  you  will  forgive  me." 

"  0  Euphra  !  "  replied  Hugh.  "You  know  it  is  not  for 
myself." 

"  I  do  know  it.     You  won't  mind,  then,  if  I  don't  go  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  have  made  up  your  mind.  You, 
must  have  a  good  reason  for  it." 


1 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  413 

''Indeed  I  have."  And  even  already  she  felt  that  resist- 
ance brought  its  own  reward. 

Hugh  Avent  almost  immediatelj,  in  order  to  make  his  report 
to  Falconer,  with  whom  he  had  an  appointment  for  the 
purpose. 

"  She  is  quite  right,"  said  Falconer.  "I  do  not  think,  in 
the  relation  in  which  she  stands  to  him,  that  she  could  safely 
do  otherwise.  But  it  seems  to  me  very  likely  that  this  will 
turn  out  well  for  our  plans,  too.  Let  her  persist,  and  in  all 
probability  he  will  not  only  have  to  resign  her  perforcCj  but 
will  so  far  make  himself  subject  to  her  in  turn,  as  to  seek  her 
who  will  not  go  to  him.  He  will  pull  upon  his  own  rope  till 
he  is  drawn  to  the  spot  where  he  has  fixed  it.  What  remains 
for  you  and  me  to  do,  is  to  keep  a  close  watch  on  the  house 
and  neighborhood.  Most  likely  we  shall  find  the  villain  before 
long." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  " 

•'The  whole  affair  is  mysterious,  and  has  to  do  with  laws 
with  which  we  are  most  imperfectly  acquainted;  but  this 
seems  to  me  a  presumption  worth  acting  upon.  Is  there  no 
one  in  the  house  on  whom  you  could  depend  for  assistance,  — 
for  information,  at  least  ?  " 

"Yes.  There  is' the  same  old  servant  that  Mrs.  Elton  had 
with  her  at  Arnstead.  He  is  a  steady  old  fellow,  and  has  been 
very  friendly  with  me." 

"  "Well,  what  I  would  advise  is,  that  you  should  find  your- 
self quarters  as  near  the  spot  as  possible ;  and,  besides  keeping 
as  much  of  a  personal  guard  upon  the  house  as  you  can, 
engage  the  servant  you  mention  to  let  you  know  the  moment 
the  count  makes  his  appearance.  It  will  probably  be  towards 
night  when  he  calls,  for  such  a  man  may  haA'e  reasons  as  well 
as  instincts  to  make  him  love  the  darkness  rather  than  the  light. 
You  had  better  go  at  once :  and  when  you  have  found  a  place, 
leave  or  send  the  address  here  to  me,  and  towards  nightfall  I 
will  join  you.  But  we  may  have  to  watch  for  several  days. 
We  must  not  be  too  sanguine." 

Almost  without  a  word,  Hugh  went  to  do  as  Falconer  said. 
The  only  place  he  could  find  suitable  was  a  public  house  at 
the  corner  of  a  back  street,  where  the  men-servants  of  the 
neishborhood  used  to  resort.      He  succeeded   in   securing  a 


414  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

private  room  in  it,  for  a  week,  and  immediatelj  sent  Falconer 
■word  of  his  locality.  He  then  called  a  second  time  at  Mrs. 
Elton's,  and  asked  to  see  the  butler.     When  he  came,  — 

"Irwan,"  said  he,  "  has  Ilerr  von  •Eunkelstein  called  here 
to-day?" 

"  No,  sir,  he  has  not." 

"  You  would  know  him,  would  you  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  perfectly." 

"Well,  if  he  should  call' to-night,  or  to-morrow,  or  any 
time  within  the  next  few  days,  let  me  know  the  moment  he  is 
in  the  house.  You  will  find  me  at  the  Golden  Staff,  round 
the  corner.  It  is  of^the  utmost  importance  that  I  should  see 
him  at  once.  But  do  not  let  him  know  that  any  one  wants  to 
see  him.  You  shall  not  repent  helping  me  in  this  affair.  I 
know  I  can  trust  you." 

Hugh  had  fi/ed  him  with  his  eyes,  before  he  began  to  ex- 
plain his  wishes.  He  had  found  out  that  this  was  the  best  way 
of  securing  attention  from  inferior  natures,  and  that  it  was 
especially  necessary  with  London  servants ;  for  their  super- 
ciliousness is  cowed  by  it,  and  the  superior  will  brought  to 
bear  upon  theirs.  It  is  the  only  way  a  man  without  a  car- 
riage has  to  command  attention  from  such.  Irwan  was  not 
one  of  this  sort.  He  was  a  country  servant,  for  one  difference. 
But  Hugh  made  his  address  as  impressive  as  possible. 

"  I  will  with  pleasure,  sir,"  answered  Irwan,  and  Hugh  felt 
tolerably  sure  of  him. 

Falconer  came.  They  ordered  some  supper,  and  sat  till 
eleven  o'clock.  There  being  then  no  chance  of  a  summons, 
they  went  out  together.  Passing  the  house,  they  saw  light  in 
one  upper  window  only.  That  light  would  burn  there  all 
night,  for  it  was  in  Euphra's  room.  They  went  on,  Hugh 
accompanying  Falconer  in  one  of  his  midnight  walks  through 
London,  as  he  had  done  repeatedly  before.  From  such  com- 
I^anionship  and  the  scenes  to  which  Falconer  introduced  him, 
he  had  gathered  this  fruit,  that  he  began  to  believe  in  God  for' 
the  sake  of  the  wretched  men  and  women  he  saw  in  the  world. 
At  first,  it  was  his  own  pain  at  the  sight  of  such  misery  that 
drove  him,  for  consolation,  to  hope  in  God ;  so,  at  first,  it  was 
for  his  own  sake.  But  as  he  saw  more  of  them,  and  grew  to 
love  them  more,  he  felt  that  the  only  hope  for  them  lay  in  the 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  415 

love  of  God ;  and  he  hoped  in  God  for  them.  He  saw,  too,  that 
a  God  not  both  humanly  and  absolutely  divine,  a  G  od  less  than 
that  God  shadowed  forth  in  the  Redeemer  of  men,  would  not 
do.  But,  thinking  about  God  thus,  and  hoping  in  him  for  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  he  began  to  love  God.  Then,  last  of  all. 
that  he  might  see  in  him  one  to  whom  he  could  abandon  every- 
thing, that  he  might  see  him  perfect  and  all  in  all  and  as  he 
must  be,  —  for  the  sake  of  God  himself,  he  believed  in  him  as 
the  Saviour  of  these  his  sinful  and  suffering  kin. 

As  early  as  was  at  all  excusable,  the  following  morning,  he 
called  on  Euphra.  The  butler  said  that  she  had  not  come 
down  yet,  but  he  would  send  up  his  name.  A  message  was 
brought  back  that  Miss  Cameron  was  sorry  not  to  see  him,  but 
she  had  had  a  bad  night,  and  was  quite  unable  to  get  up. 
Irwan  replied  to  his  inquiry,  that  the  count  had  not  called. 
Hugh  withdrew  to  the  Golden  Staff. 

A  bad  night  it  had  been  indeed.  As  Euphra  slept  well  the 
first  part  of  it,  and  had  no  attack  such  as  she  had  had  upon 
both  the  preceding  nights,  jNiargaret  had  hoped  the  worst 
was  over.  Still  she  laid  herself  only  within  the  threshold  of 
sleep,  ready  to  Avake  at  the  least  motion. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  she  felt  Euphra  move.  She  lay 
still  to  see  what  she  would  do.  Euphra  slipped  out  of  bed, 
and  partly  dressed  herself;  then  went  to  her  wardrobe,  and 
put  on  a  cloak  with  a  large  hood,  which  she  drew  over  her 
head.  ^Margaret  lay  with  a  dreadful  aching  at  her  heart. 
Euphra  went  towards  the  door.  Margaret  called  her,  but  she 
made  no  answer.  Margaret  flew  to  the  door,  and  reached  it 
before  her.  Then,  to  her  intense  delight,  she  saw  that 
Euphra's  eyes  were  closed.  Just  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
door.  Margaret  took  her  gently  in  her  arms. 

"  Let  me  go,  let  me  go  !  "  Euphra  almost  screamed.  Then 
suddenly  opening  her  eyes,  she  stared  at  Margaret  in  a  be- 
wildered fashion,  like  one  waking  from  the  dead. 

'•  Euphra  !  dear  Euphra  !  "'  said  Margaret. 

'•0  Margaret!  is  it  really  you?''  exclaimed  Euphra, 
flinging  her  arms  about  her.  "Oh,  I  am  glad.  Ah!  you 
€ee  Avhat  I  must  have  been  about.  I  suppose  I  knew  when  I 
was  doing  it,  but  I  don't  know  now.  I  have  forgotten  all 
About  it.  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  I  thought  it  would  come  to  this.'' 


416  ©AVID   ELGINBROD. 

"  Come  to  bed,  dear.  You  couldn't  help  it.  It  was  not 
yourself.  There  is  not  more  than  half  of  you  awake,  when 
you  walk  in  your  sleep." 

They  went  to  bed.  Euphra  crept  close  to  Margaret,  and 
cried  herself  to  sleep  again.  The  next  day  she  had  a  bad 
headache.  This  with  her  always  followed  somnambulation. 
She  did  not  get  up  all  that  day.  When  Hugh  called  again 
in  the  evening,  he  heard  she  was  better,  but  still  in  bed. 

Falconer  joined  Hugh  at  the  Golden  Staff,  at  night;  but 
they  had  no  better  success  than  before.  Falconer  went  out 
alone,  for  Hugli  wanted  to  keep  himself  fresh.  Though  very 
strong,  he  was  younger  and  less  hardened  than  Falconer,  Avho 
could  stand  an  incredible  amount  of  labor  and  lack  of  sleep. 
Hugh  would  have  given  way  under  the  half. 


CHAPTER   LXV. 

VICTORY. 

0  my  admired  mistress,  quench  not  out 
The  holy  fires  within  you,  though  teraptatioas 
Shower  down  upon  you:  clasp  thine  armor  on; 
Fight  well,  and  thou  shalt  see,  after  those  wars, 
Thy  head  wear  sunbeams,  and  thy  feet  touch  stars. 

Massinger.  —  The  Virgin  Martyr. 

But  Hugh  could  sleep  no  more  than  if  he  had  been  out 
with  Falconer.  He  was  as  restless  as  a  wild  beast  in  a  cage. 
Something  would  not  let  him  be  at  peace.  So  he  rose, 
dressed,  and  went  out.  As  soon  as  he  turned  the  corner,  he 
could  see  Mrs.  Elton's  house.  It  was  visible  both  by  inter- 
mittent moonlight  above,  and  by  flickering  gaslight  beloAv. 
for  the  wind  blew  rather  strong.  There  was  snow  in  the  air, 
he  knew.  The  light  they  had  observed  last  night  was  burn- 
ing now.  A  moment  served  to  make  these  observations  ;  and 
then  Hugh's  eyes  were  arrested  by  the  sight  of  something 
else,  —  a  man  Avalking  up  and  down  the  pavement  in  front  of 
Mrs.   Elton's  house.     He  instantly  stepped  into  the  shadow 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  417 

of  a  porch  to  watch  him.  The  figure  might  be  the  count's ; 
it  might  not ;  he  could  not  be  sure.  Every  now  and  then  the 
man  looked  up  to  the  windows.  At  length  he  stopped  right 
under  the  lighted  one,  and  looked  up.  Hugh  was  on  the  point 
of  gliding  out,  that  he  might  get  as  near  him  as  possible  be- 
fore rushing  on  him.  when,  at  the  moment,  to  his  great  morti- 
fication, a  policeman  emerged  from  some  mysterious  corner, 
and  the  figure  instantly  vanished  in  another.  Hugh  did  not 
pursue  him  ;  because  it  would  be  to  set  all  on  a  single  chance, 
and  that  a  poor  one  ;  for  if  the  count,  should  it  be  he,  suc- 
ceeded in  escaping,  he  would  not  return  to  a  spot  which  he 
knew  to  be  watched.  Hugh,  therefore,  withdrew  once  more 
under  a  porch,  and  waited.  But,  whatever  might  be  the 
cause,  the  man  made  his  appearance  no  more.  Hugh  con- 
trived to  keep  watch  for  two  hours,  in  spite  of  suspicious 
policemen.     He  slept  late  into  the  following  morning. 

Calling  at  Mrs.  Elton's,  he  learned  that  the  count  had  not 
been  there  ;  that  Miss  Cameron  had  been  very  ill  all  night ; 
but  that  she  was  rather  better  since  the  morning. 

That  night,  as  the  preceding,  Margaret  had  awaked 
suddenly.  Euphra  was  not  in  the  bed  beside  her.  She 
started  up  in  an  agony  of  terror ;  but  it  was  soon  allayed, 
though  not  removed.  She  saw  Euphra  on  her  knees  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  an  old-fashioned  four-post  one.  She  had  her 
arms  twined  round  one  of  the  bedposts,  and  her  head  thrown 
back,  as  if  some  one  were  pulling  her  backwards  by  the  hair, 
which  fell  over  her  night-dress  to  the  floor  in  thick,  black 
masses.  Her  eyes  were  closed ;  her  face  was  death-like, 
almost  livid ;  and  the  cold  dews  of  torture  were  rolling  down 
from  brow  to  chin.  Her  lips  were  moving  convulsively,  Avith 
now  and  then  the  appearance  of  an  attempt  at  articulation,  as 
if  they  were  set  in  motion  by  an  agony  of  inward  prayer. 
Margaret,  unable  to  move,  watched  her  with  anxious  sympathy 
and  fearful  expectation.  How  long  this  lasted  she  could  not 
tell ;  but  it  seemed  a  long  time.  At  length  Margaret  rose,  and 
long-ins;  to  have  some  share  in  the  struorgle,  however  small, 
went  softly,  and  stood  behind  her,  shadowing  her  from  a 
feeble  ray  of  moonlight  which,  through  a  wind-rent  cloud,  had 
stolen  into  the  room,  and  lay  upon  her  upturned  face.  There 
she  lifted  up  her  heart  in  prayer.  In  a  moment  after,  the 
27  * 


418  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

tension  of  Euplira's  countenance  relaxed  a  little  ;  composure 
slowly  followed  ;  her  head  gradually  rose,  so  that  Margaret 
could  see  her  face  no  longer  ;  then  as  gradually  drooped  for- 
■\vard.  Next  her  arms  untwined  themselves  from  the  bedpost, 
and  her  hands  clasped  themselves  together.  She  looked  like 
one  praying  in  the  intense  silence  of  absorbing  devotion. 
Margaret  stood  still  as  a  statue. 

In  speaking  about  it  afterwards  to  Hugh,  IMargaret  told 
him  that  she  distinctly  remembered  hearing,  while  she  stood, 
the  measured  steps  of  a  policeman  pass  the  house  on  the  pave- 
ment below. 

la  a  few  minutes  Euphra  bowed  her  head  yet  lower,  and 
then  rose  to  her  feet.  She  turned  round  towards  Margaret, 
as  if  she  knew  she  was  there.  To  Margaret's  astonishment, 
lier  eyes  were  wide  open.  She  smiled  a  most  childlike, 
peaceful,  happy  smile,  and  said  :  — 

"It  is  over,  Margaret,  all  over  at  last.  Thank  you,  with 
my  whole  heart.      God  Ilus  helped  me." 

At  that  moment  the  moon  shone  out  full,  and  her  face  ap- 
peared in  its  light  like  the  face  of  an  angel.  Margaret  looked  on 
her  with  awe.  Fear,  distress,  and  doubt  had  vanished,  and 
she  was  already  beautiful  like  the  blessed.  Margaret  got  a 
handkerchief,  and  wiped  the  cold  damps  from  her  face.  Then 
she  helped  her  into  bed,  where  she  fell  asleep  almost  instantly, 
and  slept  like  a  child.  Now  and  then  she  moaned ;  but  when 
Margaret  looked  at  her,  she  saw  the  smile  still  upon  her 
countenance. 

She  Avoke  weak  and  worn,  but  happy. 

"  I  shall  noi  trouble  you  to-day,  Margaret,  dear,"  said  she. 
"  I  shall  not  get  up  yet,  but  you  will  not  need  to  watch  me. 
A  great  change  has  passed  upon  me.  I  am  free.  I  have 
overcome  him.  He  may  do  as  he  pleases  now.  I  do  not  care. 
I  defy  him.  I  got  up  last  night  in  my  sleep,  but  I  remember 
all  about  it ;  and,  although  I  was  asleep,  and  felt  powerlesi 
like  a  corpse,  I  resisted  him,  even  when  I  thought  he  was 
dragging  me  away  by  bodily  force.  And  I  resisted  him,  till 
he  left  me  alone.     Thank  God !  " 

It  had  been  a  terrible  struggle,  but  she  had  overcome. 
Nor  Avas  this  all :  she  would  no  more  lead  two  lives,  the 
waking  and  the  sleeping.     Her   waking  will  and  conscience 


DAVID    ELGINBROU.  419 

had  asserted  themselves  in  her  sleeping  acts  ;  and  the  memory 
of  the  somnambulist  lived  still  in  the  waking  woman.  Hence 
her  two  lives  were  blended  into  one  life ;  and  she  was  no  more 
tsvo,  but  one.  This  indicated  a  mighty  growth  of  individual 
being. 

"  I  woke  without  terror,"  she  went  on  to  say.  "  I  always 
used  to  wake  from  such  a  sleep  in  an  agony  of  unknown  fear. 
I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  walk  in  my  sleep  again." 

Is  not  salvation  the  uniting  of  all  our  nature  into  one 
harmonious  Avhole,  —  God  first  in  us,  ourselves  last,  and  all  in 
due  order  between  ?  Something  very  much  analogous  to  the 
change  in  Euphra  takes  place  in  a  man  when  he  first  learns 
that  his  beliefs  must  become  acts;  that  his  religious  life  and 
his  human  life  are  one  ;  that  he  must  do  the  thing  that  he 
admires.  The  Ideal  is  the  only  absolute  Real ;  and  it  must 
become  the  Real  in  the  individual  life  as  well,  however  im- 
possible they  may  count  it  who  never  try  it,  or  who  do  not 
trust  in  God  to  effect  it,  when  they  find  themselves  baffled  in 
the  attempt. 

In  the  afternoon,  Euphra  fell  asleep,  and,  when  she  *^oke, 
seemed  better.      She  said  to  Margaret :  — 

"Can  it  be  that  it  was  all  a  dream,  Margaret?  —  I  mean 
my  association  with  that  dreadful  man.  I  feel  as  if  it  were 
only  some  horrid  dream,  and  that  I  could  never  have  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  him.  I  may  have  been  out  of  my  mind,  you 
know,  and  have  told  you  things  which  I  believed  firmly 
enough  then,  but  which  never  really  took  place.  Is.  could  not 
have  been  me,  Margaret,  could  it?  " 

'•  Not  your  real,  true,  best  self,  dear." 

"  I  have  been  a  dreadful  creature,  Margaret.  But  I  feel 
that  all  that  has  melted  away  from  me,  and  gone  behind  the  sun- 
set, which  will  forever  stand,  in  all  its  glory  and  loveliness, 
between  me  and  it,  an  impassable  rampart  of  defence." 

Her  words  sounded  strange  and  excited,  but  her  eye  and 
her  pulse  were  calm. 

"  How  could  he  ever  have  had  that  hateful  power  ovei 
me  ?  " 

"  Don't  think  any  more  about  him,  dear,  but  ei.joy  the  *esi 
God  has  given  you." 

"I  will,  I  will." 


420  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

At  that  moment,  a  maid  came  to  the  dcor,  with  Funkel« 
Btein's  card  for  Miss  Cameron. 

"Very  well,"  said  Margaret;  "ask  him  to  wait.  I  will 
tell  Miss  Cameron.  She  may  wish  to  send  him  a  message. 
You  may  go." 

She  told  Euphra  that  the  count  was  in  the  house.  Euphra 
showed  no  surprise,  no  fear,  no  annoyance. 

"  Will  you  see  him  for  me,  Margaret,  if  you  don't  mind ;  and 
tell  him  from  me,  that  I  defy  him ;  that  I  do  not  hate  him, 
only  because  I  despise  and  forget  him  ;  that  I  challenge  him  to 
do  his  worst  ?  ' ' 

She  had  forgotten  all  about  the  ring.     But  Margaret  had  not. 

"  I  will,"  said  she,  and  left  the  room. 

On  her  yray  down,  she  went  ino  the  drawing-room,  and  rang 
the  bell. 

"  Send  Mr.  Irwan  to  me  here,  please.  It  is  for  Miss  Cam- 
eron." 

The  man  w^ent,  but  presently  returned,  saying  that  the  but- 
ler had  just  stepped  out. 

"  Very  well.  You  will  do  just  as  well.  When  the  gentle- 
man leaves  Avho  is  calling'  now,  you  must  follow  him.  Take 
a  cab,  if  necessary,  and  follow  him  everywhere,  till  you  find 
where  he  stops  for  the  night.  Watch  the  place,  and  send  me 
word  where  you  are.  But  don't  let  him  knoAV.  Put  on  plain 
clothes,  please,  as  fast  as  you  can." 

"Yes,  miss,  directly." 

The  servants  all  called  Margaret,  miss. 

She  lingered  yet  a  little,  to  give  the  man  time.  She  was 
not  at  all  satisfied  with  her  plan,  but  she  could  think  of  noth- 
ing better.  Happily,  it  was  not  necessary.  Irwan  had 
run  as  fast  as  his  old  legs  would  carry  him  to  the  Golden 
Staff.  Hugh  received  the  news  with  delight.  His  heart 
seemed  to  leap  into  his  throat,  and  he  felt  just  as  he  did,  when, 
deer-stalking  for  the  first  time,  he  tried  to  take  aim  at  a  great 
red  stag. 

"  I  shall  wait  for  him  outside  the  door.  We  must  have  no 
noise  in  the  house.     He  is  a  thief,  or  worse,  Irwan." 

"  Good  gracious  !  And  there's  the  plate  all  laid  out  for 
dinner  on  the  sideboard !  "  exclaimed  Irwan,  and  hurried  on 
faster  than  he  had  come. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  421 

But  Hugh  was  standing  at  the  door  long  before  Irwan  got 
up  to  it.  Had  Margaret  known  who  was  watching  outside,  it 
would  have  been  a  wonderful  relief  to  her. 

She  entered  the  dining-room  where  the  count  stood  impatient. 
He  advanced  quickly,  acting  on  his  expectation  of  Euphra,  but, 
seeing  his  mistake,  stopped  and  bowed  politely.  Margaret  told 
him  that  Miss  Cameron  w\as  ill,  and  gave  him  her  message, 
word  for  word.  The  count  turned  pale  with  mortification  and 
rage.  He  bit  his  lip,  made  no  reply,  and  walked  out  into  the 
hall,  where  Irwan  stood  with  the  handle  of  the  door  in  his 
hand,  impatient  to  open  it.  No  sooner  was  he  out  of  the 
house,  than  Hugh  sprung  upon  him ;  but  the  count,  who  had 
been  perfectly  upon  his  guard,  eluded  him,  and  darted  off  down 
the  street.  Hugh  pursued  at  full  speed,  mortified  at  his 
escape.  He  had  no  fear  at  first  of  overtaking  him,  for  he  had 
found  few  men  his  equals  in  speed  and  endurance ;  but  he  soon 
saw,  to  his  dismay,  that  the  count  was  increasing  the  distance 
between  them,  and  feared  that,  by  a  sudden  turn  into  some 
labyrinth,  he  might  escape  him  altogether.  They  passed  the 
Golden  Staff  at  full  speed,  and  at  the  next  corner  Hugh  dis- 
covered what  gave  the  count  the  advantage  :  it  was  his  agility 
and  recklessness  in  turning  corners.  But,  like  the  sorcerer's 
impunity,  they  failed  him  at  last ;  for,  at  the  next  turn,  he  ran 
full  upon  Falconer,  who  staggered  back,  while  the  count  reeled 
and  fell.  Hugh  was  upon  him  in  a  moment.  "Help!" 
roared  the  count,  for  a  last  chance  from  the  sympathies  of  a 
gathering  crowd. 

"I've  got  him,"  cried  Hugh. 

"  Let  the  man  alone,"  growled  a  burly  fellow  in  the  crowd, 
with  his  fists  clenched  in  his  trowser-pockets. 

"  Let  me  have  a  look  at  him,"  said  Falconer,  stooping  over 
him.  "  Ah  !  I  don't  know  him.  That's  as  well  for  him. 
Let  him  up,  Sutherland." 

The  bystanders  took  Falconer  for  a  detective,  and  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  interfere,  all  except  the  carman  before  men- 
tioned. He  came  up,  pushing  the  crowd  right  and  left.  "  Let 
the  man  alone,"  said  he,  in  a  very  offensive  tone. 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Falconer,  "  he's  not  worth  your  trou- 
ble ;  for  —  " 

"None  o'  your  cursed  jaw  !  "  said  the  fellow,  in  a  louder 


422  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

and  deeper  growl,   approaching  Falconer  with  a  threatening 
mien. 

"Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Falconer,  as  if  to  himself. 
"  Sutherland,  look  after  the  count."' 

"That  I  will,"  said  Hugh,  confidently. 

Falconer  turned  on  the  carman,  who  was  just  on  the  point 
of  closing  with  him,  preferring  that  mode  of  fighting ;  and 
saying  only,  "  Defend  youi-self,"  retreated  a  step.  The  man 
was  good  at  his  fists  too,  and,  having  failed  in  his  first  attempt, 
made  tiie  best  use  of  them  he  could.  But  he  had  no  chance 
with  Falconer,  whose  coolness  equalled  his  skill. 

Meantime,  the  Bohemian  had  been  watching  his  chance  ;  and 
although  the  contest  certainly  did  not  last  longer  than  one  min- 
ute, found  opportunity,  in  the  middle  of  it,  to  wrench  himself 
free  from  Hugh,  trip  him  up,  and  dart  off.  The  crowd  gave 
way  before  him.  He  vanished  .so  suddenly  and  completely, 
that  it  Avas  evident  he  must  have  studied  the  neighborhood 
from  the  retreat-side  of  the  question.  With  rat-like  instinct, 
he  had  consulted  the  holes  and  corners  in  anticipation  of  the 
necessity  of  applying  to  them.  Hugh  got  up,  and,  directed, 
or  possibly  misdirected,  by  the  bystanders,  sped  away  in  pur- 
suit ;  but  he  could  hear  or  see  nothing  of  the  fugitive. 

At  the  end  of  the  minute  the  carman  lay  in  the  road. 

"  Look  after  him,  somebody,"  said  Falconer. 

"No  fear  of  him,  sir;  he's  used  to  it,"  answered  one  of 
the  bystanders,  with  the  respect  which  Falconer's  prowess 
claimed. 

Falconer  walked  after  Hugh,  who  soon  returned,  looking 
excessively  mortified,  and  feeling  very  small  indeed. 

"Never  mind,- Sutherland,"  said  he.  "The  fellow  is  up 
to  a  trick  or  two;  but  we  shall  catch  him  yet.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  big  fool  there.    But  lies  punished  enough." 

"But  what  can  we  do  next?  He  will  not  come  here 
again." 

"  Very  likely  not.  Still  he  may  not  give  up  his  attempts 
upon  Miss  Cameron.  I  almost  wonder,  seeing  she  is  so  im- 
pressible, that  she  can  give  no  account  of  his  whereabouts.  But 
I  presume  clairvoyance  depends  on  the  presence  of  other  quali- 
fications as  well.  I  should  like  to  mesmerize  her  myself,  and 
see  whether  she  could  not  help  us  theu.  ' 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  423 

"  Well,  why  not,  if  you  have  the  poAver  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  superinduce  any 
condition  of  whose  laws  I  am  so  very  partially  informed.  Be- 
sides, I  consider  it  a  condition  of  disease,  in  which,  as  by 
sleeplessness,  for  instance,  the  senses  of  the  soul,  if  you  will 
allow  the  expression,  are,  for  its  present  state,  rendered  un- 
naturally acute.  To  induce  such  a  condition,  I  dare  not  exer 
else  a  power  which  itself  I  do  not  understand." 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

MARGARET. 

] 

For  thougli  that  ever  virtuous  was  she, 

She  was  increased  in  such  excellence, 
Of  thewes  good,  j'set  in  high  bounte, 

And  so  discreet  and  fair  of  eloquence. 

So  benign,  and  su  digne  of  reverence, 
And  couthe  so  the  poeplo's  hert  embrace. 
That  each  her  loveth  that  looketh  in  her  face. 

Chaucek.  —  The  ClerVs  Tale. 

Hugh  returned  to  Mrs.  Elton's,  and,  in  the  dining-room, 
wrote  a  note  to  Euphra,  to  express  his  disappointment  and 
shame  that,  after  all,  the  count  had  foiled  him ;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  his  determination  not  to  abandon  the  quest,  till 
there  was  no  room  for  hope  left.  He  sent  this  up  to  her,  and 
waited,  thinking  that  she  might  be  on  the  sofa,  and  might  send 
for  him.  A  little  weary  from  the  reaction  of  the  excitement 
he  had  just  gone  through,  he  sat  down  in  the  corner  farthest 
from  the  door.  The  large  room  was  dimly  lighted  by  one  un- 
trimmed  lamp. 

He  sat  for  some  time,  thinking  that  Euphra  was  writing 
him  a  note,  or  perhaps  preparing  herself  to  see  him  in  her 
room.  Involuntarily  he  looked  up,  and  a  sudden  pang,  as  at 
the  vision  of  the  disembodied,  shot  through  his  heart.  A  dim 
form  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  gazing  earnestly  at  him. 
He  saw  the  same  face  which  he  had  seen  for  a  moment  in  the 
library  at  Arnstead,  —  the  glorified  face  of  Margaret  Elgin- 


424  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

hrod,  shimmering  faintly  in  the  dull  light.  Instinctively  he 
pressed  his  hands  together,  palm  to  palm,  as  if  he  had  been 
about  to  kneel  before  Madonna  herself  Delight,  mingled  with 
hope,  and  tempered  by  shame,  flushed  his  face.  Ghost  or 
none,  she  brought  no  fear  with  her,  only  awe. 

She  stood  still. 

"Margaret!   he  said,  with  trembling  voice. 

"Mr.  Sutherland!  "  she  responded,  sweetly. 

"  Are  you  a  ghost,  Margaret?" 

She  smiled  as  if  she  were  all  spirit,  and,  advancing  slowly, 
took  his  joined  hands  in  both  of  hers. 

"  Forgive  me,  Margaret,"  sighed  he,  as  if  with  his  last 
breath,  and  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears. 

She  waited  motionless,  till  his  passion  should  subside,  still 
holding  his  hands.      He  felt  that  her  hands  were  so  good. 

"  He  is  dead !  "  said  Hugh,  at  last,  with  an  eifort,  followed 
by  a  fresh  outburst  of  weeping. 

"Yes,  he  is  dead,"  rejoined  Margaret,  calmly.  "You 
would  not  weep  so  if  you  had  seen  him  die  as  I  did,  —  die  with 
a  smile  like  a  summer  sunset.  Indeed,  it  was  the  sunset  to 
me  ;  but  the  moon  has  been  up  for  a  long  time  noAv." 

She  sighed  a  gentle,  painless  sigh,  and  smiled  again  like  a 
saint.  She  spoke  nearly  as  Scotch  as  ever  in  tone,  though 
the  words  and  pronunciation  were  almost  pure  English.  This 
lapse  into  so  much  of  the  old  form,  or  rather  garment,  of 
speech,  constantly  recurred,  as  often  as  her  feelings  were  moved, 
and  especially  when  she  talked  to  children. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Hugh,  once  more. 

"  We  are  the  same  as  in  the  old  days,"  answered  Margaret ; 
and  Hugh  was  satisfied. 

"  How  do  you  come  to  be  here  ?  "  said  Hugh,  at  last,  after 
a  silence. 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  about  that  another  time.  Now  I  must 
give  you  Miss  Cameron's  message.  She  is  very  sorry  she 
cannot  see  you,  but  she  is  quite  unable.  Indeed,  she  is  not 
out  of  bed.  But  if  you  could  call  to-morrow  morning,  she 
hopes  to  be  better  and  to  be  able  to  see  you.  She  says  she  can 
never  thank  you  enough." 

The  lamp  burned  yet  fainter.  Margaret  went,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  trim  it.     The  virgins  that  arose  must  have  looked 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  425 

very  lovely  trimming  their  lamps.  It  is  a  deed  very  fair  and 
■s\-omanly  —  the  best  for  a  woman  —  to  make  the  lamp  Burn. 
The  light  shone  up  in  her  ftice,  and  the  hands  removing  the 
globe  handled  it  delicately.  He  saw  that  the  good  hands  were 
very  beautiful  hands ;  not  small,  but  admirably  shaped,  and 
very  pure.     As  she  replaced  the  globe,  — 

"That  man,"   she  said,    '•  will  not  trouble  her  anymore." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Hugh:  "  but  you  speak  confidently; 
why?" 

"  Because  she  has  behaved  gloriously.  She  has  fought 
and  conquered  him  on  his  own  ground ;  and  she  is  a  free,  and 
beautiful,  and  good  crenture  of  God  forever." 

"  You  delight  me,"  rejoined  Hugh.  "  Another  time,  per- 
haps, 3^ou  will  be  able  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  I  hope  so.     I  think  she  will  not  mind  my  telling  you." 

They  bade  each  other  good-night ;  and  Hugh  went  away 
with  a  strange  feeling,  Avhich  he  had  never  experienced  before. 
To  compare  great  things  with  small,  it  was  something  like 
what  he  had  once  felt  in  a  dream,  in  which,  digging  in  his 
fiither's  garden,  he  had  found  a  perfect  marble  statue,  young 
as  life,  and  yet  old  as  the  hills.  To  think  of  the  girl  he  had 
first  seen  in  the  drawing-room  at  TurriepuflBt,  idealizing  her- 
self into  such  a  creature  as  that,  so  grand,  and  yet  so  womanly ; 
so  lofty,  and  yet  so  lovely  ;  so  strong,  and  yet  so  graceful ! 

Would  that  every  woman  believed  in  the  ideal  of  herself, 
and  hoped  for  it  as  the  will  of  God,  not  merely  as  the  goal  of 
her  OAvn  purest  ambition  !  But  even  if  the  lower  develop- 
ment of  the  hope  were  all  she  possessed,  it  would  yet  be  well ; 
for  its  inevitable  failure  would  soon  develop  the  higher  and 
triumpliant  hope. 

He  thought  about  her  till  he  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  about 
her  till  he  woke.  Not  for  a  moment,  however,  did  he  fancy 
he  was  in  love  with  her  ;  the  feeling  was  difierent  from  any  he 
liad  hitherto  recognized  as  embodying  that  passion.  It  was 
the  recognition  and  consequent  admiration  of  a  beauty  which 
every  one  who  beheld  it  must  recognize  and  admire ;  but 
mingled,  in  his  case,  Avith  old  and  precious  memories,  doubly 
dear  now  in  the  increased  earnestness  of  his  nature  and  aspi- 
rations, and  with  a  deep  personal  interest  from  the  fact  that, 
however  little,  he   had  yet  contributed  a  portion  of  the  vital 


426  DAVID   ELQINBROD. 

food  whereby  the  gracious  creature  had  become  what  she 
was. 

In  the  so-called  morning,  he  went  to  Mrs.  Elton's.  Euphra 
was  expecting  his  visit,  and  he  was  shown  up  into  her  room, 
where  she  was  lying  on  the  couch  by  the  fire.  She  received 
him  Avith  the  Avarmth  of  gratitude  added  to  that  of  friendship. 
Her  face  was  pale  and  thin,  but  her  eyes  were  brilliant.  She 
did  not  appear  at  first  sight  to  be  very  ill ;  but  the  depth  and 
reality  of  her  sickness  grew  upon  him.  Behind  her  couch 
stood  Margaret,  like  a  guardian  angel.  Margaret  could  bear 
the  day,  for  she  belonged  to  it ;  and  therefore  she  looked  more 
beautiful  still  than  by  the  lamp-light.  Euphra  lield  out  a  pale 
little  hand  to  Hugh,  and  before  she  withdrew  it,  led  Hugh's 
towards  Margaret.  Their  hands  joined.  How  different  to 
Hugh  was  the  touch  of  the  two  hands  !  Life,  strength,  per- 
sistency in  the  one  ;  languor,  feebleness,  and  fading  in  the 
other. 

"  I  can  never  thank  you  enough,"  said  Euphra;  "there- 
fore I  Avill  not  try.     It  is  no  bondage  to  remain  your  debtor." 

"  That  Avould  be  thanks  indeed,  if  I  had  done  anything." 

"  I  have  found  out  another  mystery,"  Euphra  resumed, 
after  a  pause. 

"  1  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  answered  he.  "  I  fear  there  will 
be  no  mysteries  left  by  and  by." 

"No  fear  of  that,"  she  rejoined,  "so  long  as  the  angels 
come  down  to  men."  And  she  turned  towards  Margaret  as 
she  spoke. 

Margaret  smiled.  In  the  compliment  she  felt  only  the 
kindness. 

Hugh  looked  at  her.  She  turned  away,  and  found  some- 
thing to  do  at  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  What  mystery,  then,  have  you  destroyed  ?  " 

"  Not  destroyed  it;  for  the  mystery  of  courage  remains.  I 
was  the  wicked  ghost  that  night  in  the  Ghost's  Walk,  you 
knoAv,  —  the  white  one ;  there  is  the  good  ghost,  the  nun,  the 
black  one." 

"Who?  Margaret?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  She  has  just  been  confessing-  it  to  me.  I 
bad  my  two  angels,  as  one  wliose  fate  was  undetermined ;  ray 
evil  angel  in  the  count  —  my  good  angel  in  Margaret.     Little 


DAVID    ELGIXUROD.  427 

did  I  til  ink  then  that  the  bolj  powers  were  watching  me  in 
her.  I  knew  the  evil  one ;  I  knew  notning  of  the  good.  I 
suppose  it  is  so  with  a  great  many  people." 

Hugh  sat  silent  in  astonishment.  Margaret,  then,  had  been 
at  Arnstead  with  Mrs.  Elton  all  the  time.  It  was  herself  he 
had  seen  in  the  study. 

'•  Did  you  suspect  me,  Margaret?  "  resumed  Euphra,  turn- 
ing towards  her  where  she  sat  at  the  window. 

'•  Not  in  the  least.  I  only  knew  that  something  was  wrong 
about  the  house :  that  some  being  was  terrifying  the  servants 
and  poor  Harry ;  and  I  resolved  to  do  my  best  to  meet  it, 
especially  if  it  should  be  anything  of  a  ghostly  kind." 

"  Then  you  do  believe  in  such  appearances?  "  said  Hugh. 

"I  have  never  met  anything  of  the  sort  yet.  I  don't 
know." 

"  And  you  were  not  afraid  ?  " 

"  Not  much.  I  am  never  really  afraid  of  anything.  Why 
should  I  be?" 

No  justification  of  fear  was  suggested  either  by  Hugh  or  by 
Euphra.  They  felt  the  dignity  of  nature  that  lifted  Margaret 
above  the  region  of  fear. 

"  Come  and  see  me  again  soon,"  said  Euphra,  as  Hugh 
rose  to  go. 

He  promised. 

Next  day  he  dined  by  invitation  with  Mrs.  Elton  and 
Harry.  Euphra  was  unable  to  see  him,  but  sent  a  kind 
message  by  Margaret  as  he  was  taking  his  leave.  He  had 
been  fearing  that  he  should  not  see  Margaret ;  and  when  she 
did  appear,  he  was  the  more  delighted ;  but  the  interview  was 
necessarily  short. 

He  called  the  next  day,  and  saAV  neither  Euphra  nor 
Margaret.  She  was  no  better.  ]\Irs.  Elton  said  the  physi- 
cians could  discover  no  definite  ilisease  either  of  the  lungs  or 
of  any  other  organ.  Yet  life  seemed  sinking.  Margaret 
thought  that  the  conflict  which  she  had  passed  through  had 
exhausted  her  vitality;  that,  had  she  yielded,  she  might  have 
lived  a  slave  ;  but  that  now,  perhaps,  she  must  die  a  free 
woman. 

Her  continued  illness  made  Hugh  still  more  anxious  to  find 
the  ring,   for  he  knew  it  would  please  her  much.     Falconer 


i28  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 


would  have  applied  to  the  police,  but  he  feared  that  the  man 
would  vanish  from  London,  upon  the  least  suspicion  that  he 
was  watched.  Thejr  held  many  consultations  on  the  sub- 
ject. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 


A  NEW  GUIDE. 


Das  Denkon  ist  nur  ein  Traum  des  Fiihlens,   ein  erstorbenes   Fiihlen,  ein  blasS" 
graues,  schwaches  Leben. 

Thinking  is  only  a  dream  of  feeling;  a  dead  feeling;  a  pale-gray,  feeble  life. 

NoVALis.  —  Die  Leftrlinge  zu  Sais. 

For  where's  no  courage,  there's  no  ruth  nor  mono. 

Faerie  Queene^  vi.  7,  18. 

One  morning,  as  soon  as  she  waked,  Euphra  said  :  — 

"  Have  I  been  still  all  the  night,  Margaret?  " 

"  Quite  still.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  had  such  a  strange  and  vivid  dream,  thai 
I  feel  as  if  I  must  have  been  to  the  place.  It  was  a  foolish 
question,  though  ;  because,  of  course,  jou  would  not  have  let 
me  go." 

"  I  hope  it  did  not  trouble  you  much." 

"No,  not  much  ;  for  though  I  was  with  the  count,  I  did  not 
seem  to  be  there  in  the  body  at  all,  only  somehow  near  him, 
and  seeing  him.     I  can  recall  the  place  perfectly." 

"  Do  you  think  it  really  was  the  place  he  was  in  at  the 
time  ?  " 

"I  should  not  wonder.  But  now  I  feel  so  free,  so  far  be- 
yond him  and  all  his  power,  that  I  don't  mind  where  or  when 
I  see  him.     He  cannot  hurt  me  now." 

"Could  you  describe  the  place  to  Mr.  Sutherland?  It 
might  help  him  to  find  the  count." 

"  That's  a  good  idea.      Will  you  send  for  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly.     May  I  tell  him  for  what  ?" 

"  By  all  means." 

Margaret  wrote  to  Hugh  at  once,  and  sent  the  note  by 


DAVID    ELGINBKOD.  429 

Hand.  He  was  at  home  when  it  arrived.  He  hurriedly 
answered  it,  and  went  to  find  Falconer,  To  his  delight  he  was 
at  home,  —  not  out  of  bed,  in  fact. 

"Read  that." 

"Who  is  it  from?" 

"  Miss  Cameron's  maid." 

"  It  does  not  look  like  a  maid's  production." 

"It  is  though.  Will  you  come  with  me?  You  know 
London  ten  thousand  times  better  than  I  do.  I  don't  think 
we  ought  to  lose  a  chance." 

"Certainly  not.  I  will  go  with  you.  But  perhaps  she 
will  not  see  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  will,  when  I  have  told  her  about  you." 

"It  will  be  rather  a  trial  to  see  a  stranger." 

"A  man  cannot  be  a  stranger  with  you  ten  minutes,  if  he 
only  looks  at  you  ;  — still  less,  a  woman." 

Falconer  looked  pleased,  and  smiled. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so.     Let  us  go." 

When  they  arrived,.  Margaret  came  to  them.  Hugh  told 
her  that  Falconer  was  his  best  friend,  and  one  who  knew 
London  perhaps  better  than  any  other  man  in  it.  Margaret 
looked  at  him  full  in  the  face  for  a  moment.  Falconer  smiled 
at  the  intensity  of  her  still  gaze.  Margai-et  returned  the 
smile,  and  said  :  — 

"  I  will  ask  Miss  Cameron  to  see  you." 

"Thank  you,"  was  all  Falconer's  reply;  but  the  tone  was 
more  than  speech. 

After  a  little  while,  they  were  shown  up  to  Euphra's  room. 
She  had  wanted  to  sit  up,  but  Margaret  would  not  let  her ; 
BO  she  was  lying  on  her  couch.  When  Falconer  was  pre- 
gented  to  her,  he  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  for  a  moment. 
L  kind  of  indescribable  beam  broke  over  his  face,  as  if  his 
spii'it  smiled  and  the  smile  shone  through  without  moving  one 
of  his  features  as  it  passed  The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  Tc 
understand  all  this  look,  one  would  need  to  know  his  history 
as  I  do.  He  laid  her  hand  gently  on  her  bosom,  and  said, 
"  God  bless  you  !  " 

Euphra  felt  that  God  did  bless  her  in  the  very  words.  She 
had  been  looking  at  Fahioner  all  the  time  It  was  only 
fifteen  seconds  or  soj  bv.t  the  outcome  of  a  life  was  crowded 


430  DAVID    ELGINBBOD. 

into  Falconer's  side  of  it ;  and  the  confidence  of  Euphra  rosie 
to  meet  tlie  faithfulness  of  a  man  of  God.  —  What  words  those 
are  !  —  A  man  of  God  1  1  lave  I  not  written  a  revelation  ? 
Yes —  to  him  who  can  read  it  — -  yes. 

"  I  know  enough  of  your  story,  Miss  Cameron,"  he  said, 
"to  understand  without  any  preface  what  you  choose  to  tell 
me." 

Euphra  began  at  once  :  — 

"I  dreamed  last  night  that  I  found  myself  outside  the  street 
door.  I  did  not  knew  where  I  was  going;  but  ray  feet  seemed 
to  know.  They  carried  me,  round  two  or  three  corners,  into 
a  wide,  long  street,  which  I  think  was  Oxford  Street.  TJiey 
carried  me  on  into  London,  far  beyond  any  quarter  I  knew. 
All  I  can  tell  further  is,  that  I  turned  to  the  left  beside  a 
church,  on  the  steeple  of  which  stood  what  I  took  for  a  wander- 
ing ghost  just  lighted  there;  only  1  ought  to  tell  you,  that  fre- 
quently in  my  dreams  —  always  in  my  peculiar  dreams  —  the 
more  material  and  solid  and  ordinary  things  are,  the  more  thin 
and  ghostly  they  appear  to  me.  Then  I  went  on  and  on,  turning 
left  and  right  too  many  times  for  me  to  remember,  till  at  last  I 
came  to  a  little,  old-fashioned  court,  with  two  or  three  trees  in  it. 
I  had  to  go  up  a  few  steps  to  enter  it.  I  was  not  afraid,  because  I 
knew  I  Avas  dreaming,  and  that  my  body  was  not  there.  It  is  a 
great  relief  to  feel  that  sometimes  ;  for  it  is  often  very  much  in 
the  way.  I  opened  a  door,  upon  which  the  moon  slione  veiy 
bright,  and  walked  up  two  flights  of  stairs  into  aback  room. 
And  there  I  found  him,  doing  something  at  a  table  by  candle- 
light. He  had  a  sheet  of  paper  before  him ;  but  what  he  was 
doing  with  it,  I  could  not  see.  I  tried  hard  ;  but  it  was  of  no 
use.  The  dream  suddenly  faded,  and  I  awoke,  and  found 
Margaret.  Then  I  knew  I  was  safe,"  she  added,  with  a 
loving  glance  at  her  maid. 

Falconer  rose. 

"I  know  the  place  you  mean  perfectly,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
too  peculiar  to  be  mistaken.  Last  night,  let  me  see,  how  did 
the  moon  shine  ?  — Yes.  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  the  very  door, 
I  think,  or  almost." 

"  How  kind  of  you  not  to  laugh  at  me  !  " 

"  I  might  make  a  fool  of  myself  if  I  laughed  at  any  one. 
So  I  generally  avoid  it.     We  may  as  well  get  the  good  out  of 


DAVID    ELGINBROD  431 

what  we  do  not  understand,  or  at  least  try  if  there  be  any 
in  it.      Will  you  come,  Sutherland?" 

Hugh  rose,  and  took  his  leave  with  Falconer. 

"  How  pleased  she  seemed  with  you,  Falconer !  "  said  he, 
as  they  left  the  house. 

"  Yes,  she  touched  me." 

"  Won't  you  go  and  see  her  again  ?  " 

'•  No ;  there  is  no  need,  except  she  sends  for  me." 

"  It  would  please  her,  —  comfort  her,  I  am  sure." 

"  She  has  got  one  of  God's  angels  beside  her,  Sutherland. 
She  doesn't  want  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  maid  of  hers." 

A  pang  —  of  jealousy,  was  it  ?  —  shot  though  Hugh's  heart. 
How  could  he  see,  —  what  right  had  he  to  see  anything  in 
Margaret  ? 

Hugh  might  have  kept  himself  at  poace,  even  if  he  had 
loved  Margaret  as  much  as  she  deserved,  which  would  have 
been  about  ten  times  as  much  as  he  did.  Is  a  man  not  to  rec- 
ognize an  angel  when  he  sees  her,  and  to  call  her  by  her  name  ? 
Had  Hugh  seen  into  the  core  of  that  grand  heart,  —  what 
form  sat  there,  and  how,  —  he  would  have  been  at  peace,  — 
would  almost  have  fallen  down  to  do  the  man  homage.  He 
was  silent. 

"  My  dear  fellow  !  "  said  Falconer,  as  if  he  divined  his  feel- 
ing, —  for  Falconer's  power  over  men  and  Avomen  came  all 
from  sympathy  with  their  spirits,  and  not  their  nerves,  —  "if 
you  have  any  hold  of  that  woman,  do  not  lose  it ;  for  as  sure 
as  there's  a  sun  in  heaven,  she  is  one  of  the  winged  ones 
Don't  I  know  a  woman  when  I  see  her?  " 

He  sighed  with  a  kind  of  involuntary  sigh,  which  yet  did 
not  seek  to  hide  itself  from  Hu2;h. 

"  My  dear  6oy,"  he  added,  laying  a  stress  on  the  word, 
"I  am  nearly  twice  your  age, — don't  be  jealous  of 
me." 

"Mr.  Falconer,"  said  Hugh,  humbly,  "forgive  me.  The 
feeling  was  involuntary  ;  and  if  you  have  detected  in  it  more 
than  I  was  aware  of,  you  are  at  least  as  likely  to  be  right  as  I 
am.  But  you  cannot  think  more  highly  of  Margaret  than  1 
do." 


432  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

And  yet  Hugh  did  not  know  half  the  good  of  her  then,  that 
the  reader  does  now. 

"Well,  we  had  better  part  now,  and  meet  again  at  night." 

"  What  time  shall  I  come  to  you?  " 

"  Oh  !  about  nine  I  think  will  do." 

So  Hugh  went  home,  and  tried  to  turn  his  thoughts  to  his 
story  ;  but  Euphra,  Falconer,  Funkelstein,  and  Margaret  per- 
sisted in  sitting  to  him,  the  one  after  the  other,  instead  of  the 
heroes  and  heroines  of  his  tale.  He  was  compelled  to  lay  it 
aside,  and  betake  himself  to  a  stroll  and  a  pipe. 

As  he  went  downstairs,  he  met  Miss  Talbot. 

"  You're  soon  tired  of  home,  Mr.  Sutherland.  You  haven't 
been  in  above  half  an  hour,  and  you're  out  again  already." 

"  Why,  you  see.  Miss  Talbot,  I  want  a  pipe  very  much." 

"  Well,  you  aint  going  to  the  public  house  to  smoke  it,  are 
you?" 

"No,"  answered  Hugh,  laughing.  "  But  you  know.  Miss 
Talbot,  you  made  it  part  of  the  agreement  that  I  shouldn't 
smoke  indoors.      So  I'm  going  to  smoke  in  the  street." 

"Now,  think  of  being  taken  that  way!"  retorted  Miss 
Talbot,  with  an  injured  air.  "  Why,  that  was  befose  I  knew 
anything  about  you.  Go  upstairs  directly,  and  smoke  your 
pipe  ;  and  when  the  room  can't  hoM  any  more,  you  can  open 
the  windows.  Youi'  smoke  won't  do  any  harm,  Mr.  Sutherland. 
But  I'm  very  sorry  you  quarrelled  with  Mrs.  Appleditch. 
She's  a  hard  woman,  and  over-fond  of  her  money  and  her 
drawing-room  ;  and  for  those  boys  of  hers,  —  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  them,  for  she  has  none  !  But  she's  a  true  Christian 
for  all  that,  and  does  a  power  of  good  among  the  poor  people." 

"  What  does  she  give  them.  Miss  Talbot?  " 

"  Oh  !  —  she  gives  them  —  lim-m  —  tracts  and  things. 
You  know,"  she  added,  perceiving  the  weakness  of  her  position, 
"  people's  souls  should  come  first.     And  poor  Mrs.  Appleditch 

—  you  see  —  some  folks  is  made  stickier  than  others,  and  their 
money  sticks  to   them,  somehow,  that  they  can't  part  with  it, 

—  poor  woman  !  " 

To  this  Hugh  had  no  answer  at  hand ;  for  though  Miss 
Talbot's  logic  was  more  than  questionable,  her  charity  was 
perfectly  sound ;  and  Hugh  felt  that  he  had  not  been  forbear- 
ing enough  with  the  mother  of  the  future  pastors.     So  he  went 


Dj4vid  elginbrod.  483 

back  to  his  room,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  smoked  till  he  fell  asleep 
over  a  small  volume  of  morbid  modern  divinity,  which  Miss 
Talbot  had  lent  him.  I  do  not  mention  the  name  of  the  book, 
lest  some  of  mj  acquaintance  should  abuse  me.  and  others  it, 
more  than  either  deserves.  Hugh,  however,  found  the  best 
refuge  from  the  diseased  self-consciousness  which  it  endeavored 
to  rouse,  and  which  is  a  kind  of  spiritual  somnambulism,  in  an 
hour  of  God's  good  sleep,  into  a  means  of  which  the  book  was 
temporarily  elevated.  When  he  woke  he  found  himself  greatly 
refi'eshed  by  the  influence  it  had  exercised  upon  him. 

It  was  now  the  hour  for  the  daily  pretence  of  going  to  dine. 
So  he  went  out.  Bat  all  he  had  was  some  bread,  which  he  ate 
as  he  walked  about.  Loitering  here,  and  trifling  there,  passing 
five  minutes  over  a  volume  in  every  bookstall  in  Holborn,  and 
comparing  the  shapes  of  the  meerschaums  in  every  tobacconist's 
■window,  time  ambled  gently  along  with  him ;  and  it  struck 
nine  just  as  he  found  himself  at  Falconer's  door. 

"  You  are  ready,  then?  "  said  Falconer. 

"Quite." 

"Will  you  take  anything  before  you  go  ?  I  think  we  had 
better  have  some  supper  first.      It  is  early  for  our  project." 

This  was  a  welcome  proposal  to  Hugh.  Cold  meat  and  ale 
were  excellent  preparatives  for  Avhat  might  be  required  of  him  ; 
for  a  tendency  to  collapse  in  a  certain  region,  called  by  courtesy 
the  chest,  is  not  favorable  to  deeds  of  valor.  By  the  time  he 
had  spent  ten  minutes  in  the  discharge  of  the  agreeable  duty 
suggested,  he  felt  himself  ready  for  anything  that  might  fall 
to  his  lot. 

The  friends  set  out  together ;  and,  under  the  guidance  of 
the  two  foremost  bumps  upon  Falconer's  forehead,  soon  arrived 
at  the  place  he  judged  to  be  that  indicated  by  Euphra.  It 
was  very  different  from  the  place  Hugh  had  pictured  to  him- 
self    Yet  in  everything  it  corresponded  to  her  description. 

"Are  we  not  great  fools,  Sutherland,  to  set  out  on  such  a 
chase,  with  the  dream  of  a  sick  girl  for  our  only  guide?'' 

"I  am  sure  you  don't  think  so.  else  you  would  not  have 
gone. ' ' 

"  I  think  we  can  afford  the  small  risk  to  our  reputation  in- 
volved in  the  chase  of  this  same  wild-goose.  There  is  enough 
of  strange  testimony  about  things  of  the  sort  to  justify  us  in 
28 


434  DAVID   ELGINBROD. 

attjncling  to  the  hint.  Besides,  if  we  neglected  it,  it  would 
be  mortifying  to  find  out  some  day,  perhaps  a  hundred  years 
after  this,  that  it  was  a  true  hint.  It  is  altogether  different 
from  giving  ourselves  up  to  the  pursuit  of  such  things.  —  Kut 
this  ought  to  be  the  house,"  he  added,  going  up  to  one  that 
had  a  rather  more  respectable  look  than  the  rest. 

He  knocked  at  the  door.  An  elderly  Avoman  half  opened 
it,  and  looked  at  them  suspiciously. 

"Will  you  take  fay  card  to  the  foreign  gentleman  who  is 
lodging  with  you,  and  say  I  am  happy  to  wait  upon  him  ?  " 
said  Falconer. 

She  glanced  at  him  again,  and  turned  inwards,  hesitating 
whether  to  leave  the  door  half  open,  or  not.  Falconer  stood 
BO  close  to  it,  however,  that  she  was  afraid  to  shut  it  in  his 
face. 

"Now,  Sutherland,  follow  me,"  whispered  Falconer,  as 
soon  as  the  woman  had  disappeared  on  the  stair. 

Hugh  followed  behind  the  moving  tower  of  his  friend,  who 
strode  Avith  long,  noiseless  strides  till  he  reached  the  stair. 
That  he  took  three  steps  at  a  time.  They  Avent  up  two  flights, 
and  reached  the  top  just  as  the  woman  was  laying  her  hand  on 
the  lock  of  the  back-room  door.      She  turned  and  faced  them. 

"  Speak  one  word,"  said  Falconer,  in  a  hissing  Avhisper, 
"and  —  " 

He  completed  the  sentence  by  an  awfully  threatening 
gesture.  She  drew  back  in  terror,  and  yielded  her  place  at 
the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  bawled  some  one,  in  second  answer  to  the 
knock  she  had  already  given. 

"  It  is  he  !  "  said  Hugh,  trembling  Avith  excitement. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Falconer,  and  went  in. 

Hugh  followed.  He  knew  the  back  of  the  count  at  once. 
He  was  seated  at  a  table,  apparently  wi'iting ;  but,  going 
nearer,  they  saw  that  he  Avas  draAving.  A  single  closer  glance 
showed  them  the  portrait  of  Euphra  growing  under  his  Hand. 
In  order  to  intensify  his  will  and  concentrate  it  upon  her,  he 
was  drawing  her  portrait  from  memory.  But  at  the  moment 
they  caught  sight  of  it,  the  Avretch,  aAvare  of  a  hostile 
presence,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  reached  the  chimney-piece  at 
one  bound,  whence  he  caught  up  a  SAvord. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  435 

"Take  care,  Falconer,"  cried  Hugh;  "that  weapon  is 
poisoned.     He  is  no  everj-day  villain  you  have  to  deal  with," 

He  remembered  the  cat. 

Funkelstein  made  a  sudden  lunge  at  Hugh,  his  face  pale 
with  hatred  and  anger.  But  a  blow  from  Falconer's  huge 
fist,  travelling  flister  than  the  point  of  his  weapon,  stretched 
him  on  the  floor.  Such  was  Falconer's  impetus,  that  it 
hurled  both  him  and  the  table  across  the'fallen  villain.  Fal- 
coner was  up  in  a  moment.  Not  so  Funkelstein.  There  was 
plenty  of  time  for  Hugh  to  secure  the  rapier,  and  for  Falconer 
to  secure  its  owner,  before  he  came  to  himself 

"  Where's  my  ring?"  said  Hugh,  the  moment  he  opened 
his  eyes. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  protest,"  began  Funkelstein,  in  a  voice  upon 
which  the  cord  that  bound  his  wrists  had  an  evident  influence. 

"  No  chafl"!  "  said  Falconer.  "  We've  got  all  our  feathers. 
Hand  over  the  two  rings,  or  be  the  security  for  them  yourself" 

"  What  witness  have  you  against  me?  " 

"  The  best  of  witnesses,  —  Miss  Cameron." 

"  And  me,"  added  Hugh. 

'■  Gentlemen,  I  am  very  sorry.  I  yielded  to  temptation. 
I  meant  to  restore  the  diamond  after  the  joke  had  been  played 
out,  but  I  was  forced  to  part  with  it." 

"  The  joke  is  played  out,  you  see,"  said  Falconer.  "  So 
you  had  better  produce  the  other  bauble  you  stole  at  the  same 
time." 

"  I  have  not  got  it." 

"Come,  come,  that's  too  much.  Nobody  would  give  you 
more  than  five  shillings  for  it.  And  you  knew  what  it  was 
worth  when  you  took  it.  Sutherland,  you  stand  over  him 
while  I  search  the  room.  This  portrait  may  as  well  be  put 
out  of  the  way  first." 

As  he  spoke,  Falconer  tore  the  portrait  and  threw  it  into 
the  fire.  He  then  turned  to  a  cupboard  in  the  room. 
Whether  it  was  that  Funkelstein  feared  further  revelations,  I 
do  not  know,  but  he  quailed. 

"  I  have  not  got  it,"  he  repeated,  however. 

"You  lie,"  answered  Falconer. 

"  I  would  give  it  you  if  I  could." 

"You  shall." 


436  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

The  Bohemian  looked  contemptible  enough  now,  despite  the 
handsomeness  of  his  features.  It  needed  freedom,  and  the 
absence  of  anj  urgency,  to  enable  him  to  personate  a  gentle- 
man. Given  those  conditions,  he  succeeded.  But  as  soon  as 
he  was  disturbed,  the  gloss  vanished  and  the  true  nature  came 
out,  that  of  a  ruffian  and  a  sneak.  He  quite  quivered  at  the 
look  with  which  Falconer  turned  again  to  the  cupboard. 

"Stop,"  he  cried';    "here  it  is." 

And  muttering  what  sounded  like  curses,  he  pulled  out  of 
his  bosom  the  I'ing,  suspended  from  his  neck. 

"Sutherland,"  said  Falconer,  taking  the  ring,  "secure 
that  rapier,  and  be  careful  with  it.  We  will  have  its  point 
tested.  Meantime,"  — here  he  turned  again  to  his  prisoner 
—  "I  give  you  warning  that  the  moment  I  leave  this  house, 
I  go  to  Scotland  Yard.  Do  you  know  the  place  ?  I  there 
recommend  the  police  to  look  after  you,  and  they  loill  mind 
what  1  say.  If  you  leave  London,  a  message  will  be  sent, 
wherever  you  go,  that  you  had  better  be  watched.  My  advice 
to  you  is,  to  stay  where  you  are  as  long  as  you  can.  I  shall 
meet  you  again." 

They  left  him  on  the  floor,  to  the  care  of  his  landlady,  whom 
they  found  outside  the  room,  speechless  with  terror. 

As  soon  as  they  were  in  the  square,  on  which  the  moon  was 
now  shining,  as  it  had  shono  in  Euphra's  dream  the  night  be- 
fore. Falconer  gave  the  ring  to  Hugh. 

"  Take  it  to  a  jeweller's,  Sutherland,  and  get  it  cleaned,  be- 
fore you  give  it  to  Miss  Cameron." 

"I  will,"  answered  Hugh,  and  added,  "I  don't  know  how 
to  thank  you." 

"  Then  don't,"  said  Falconer,  with  a  smile. 

When  they  reached  the  end  of  the  street,  he  turned,  and 
bade  Hugh  good-night. 

"Take  care  of  that  cowardly  thing.     It  may  be  as  you  say." 

Hugh  turned  towards  home.  Falconer  dived  into  a  court, 
ixA  was  out  of  sight  in  a  moment. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  437 


CHAPTER  LXVm. 

THE  LAST  GROAT. 

Thou  hast  been 
As  one,  in  suffering  all,  that  suffers  nothing; 
A  man  that  fortune's  buffets  and  rewards 
Hast  ta'en  with  equal  thanks;  and  blessed  are  those 
Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well  commingled 
That  they  are  not  a  pipe  for  Fortune's  finger 
To  sound  what  stop  she  please. 

Hamlet. 

Most  friends  befriend  themselves  with  friendship's  show. 

Southwell. 

Hugh  took  the  ring  to  Mrs.  Elton's,  and  gave  it  into  Mar- 
garet's hand.  She  brought  him  back  a  message  of  warmest 
thanks  from  Euphra.  She  h^ad  asked  for  writing  materials  at 
once,  and  was  now  communicating  the  good  news  to  Mr. 
Arnold,  in  Madeira. 

"  I  have  never  seen  her  look  so  happy,"  added  Margaret. 
"  She  hopes  to  be  able  to  see  you  in  the  evening,  if  you  would 
not  mind  calling;  again." 

Hugh  did  call,  and  saw  her.  She  received  him  most  kindly. 
He  was  distressed  to  see  how  altered  she  was.  The  fire  of  one 
life  seemed  dying  out  —  flowing  away  and  spending  from  her 
eyes,  which  it  illuminated  with  too  much  light  as  it  passed  out. 
But  the  fire  of  another  life,  the  immortal  life,  which  lies  in 
thought  and  feeling,  in  truth  and  love  divine,  which  death  can- 
not  touch,  because  it  is  not  of  his  kind,  was  growing  as  fast. 
He  sat  with  her  for  an  hour,  and  then  went. 

This  chapter  of  his  own  history  concluded,  Hugh  returned 
with  fresh  energy  to  his  novel,  and  worked  at  it  as  his  inven- 
tion gave  him  scope.  There  was  the  more  necessity  that  he 
should  make  progress,  from "  the  fact  that,  having  sent  his 
mother  the  greater  part  of  the  salary  he  had  received  from 
Mr.  Arnold,  he  was  now  reduced  to  his  last  sovereign.  Poverty 
looks  rather  ugly  when  she  comes  so  close  as  this.  But  she 
had  not  yet  accosted  him  ;  and  with  a  sovereign  in  his  pocket, 
and  last  week's  rent  paid,  a  bachelor  is  certainly  not  poverty- 
stricken,  at  least  when  he  is  as  independent,  not  only  of  other 
people,   but  of  himself,  as  Hugh  was.     Still,  without  more 


438  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

money  than  that,  a  man  walks  in  fetters,  and  is  ready  to  forget 
that  the  various  restraints  he  is  under  are  not  incompatible 
with  most  honorable  freedom.  So  Hugh  worked  as  hard  as 
he  could  to  finish  his  novel,  and  succeeded  within  a  week.  Then 
the  real  anxiety  began.  He  carried  it,  with  much  doubtful  hope, 
to  one  of  the  principal  publishing-houses.  Had  he  been  more 
jelfishly  wise,  he  would  have  put  it  into  the  hands  of  Falconer 
to  negotiate  for  him.  But  he  thought  he  had  given  him  quite 
trouble  enough  already.  So  he  went  without  an  introduction 
even.  The  manuscript  was  received  politely,  and  attention 
was  promised.  But  a  week  passed,  and  another,  and  another. 
A  human  soul  was  in  commotion  about  the  meat  that  perisheth 
—  and  the  manuscript  lay  all  the  time  unread,  — forgotten  in 
a  drawer. 

At  length  he  reached  his  last  coin.  He  had  had  no  meat 
for  several  days,  except  once  tlmt  he  dined  at  Mrs.  Elton's. 
But  he  would  not  borrow  till  absolutely  compelled,  and  six- 
pence would  keep  him  alive  another  day.  In  the  morning  he 
had  some  breakfast  (for  he  knew  his  books  were  worth  enough 
to  pay  all  he  owed  Miss  Talbot),  and  then  he  wandered  out. 
Through  the  streets  he  paced  and  paced,  looking  in  at  all  the 
silversmiths'  and  printsellers'  windows,  and  solacing  his  pov- 
erty with  a  favorite  amusement  of  his  in  uneasy  circumstances, 
an  amusement  cheap  enough  for  a  Scotchman  reduced  to  his 
last  sixpence,  —  castle-building.  This  is  not  altogether  a  bad 
employment  where  hope  has  laid  the  foundation  ;  but  it  is  rather 
a  heartless  one  where  the  imagination  has  to  draw  the  ground 
plan  as  well  as  the  elevations.  The  latter,  however,  Avas  not 
quite  Hugh's  condition  yet.  He  returned  at  night,  carefully 
avoiding  the  cook-shops  and  their  kindred  snares,  with  a  silver 
groat  in  his  pocket  still.  But  he  crawled  upstairs  rather  fee- 
bly, it  must  be  confessed,  for  a  youth  with  limbs  moulded  in 
the  fashion  of  his. 

He  found  a  letter  waiting  him,  from  a  friend  of  his  mother, 
informing  him  that  she  was  dangerously  ill,  and  urging  him  to 
Bet  oflf  immediately  for  home.  This  was  like  the  blast  of  fiery 
breath  from  the  dragon's  maw,  Avhich  overthrew  the  Red-cross 
knight  —  but  into  the  well  of  life,  where  all  his  wounds  were 
healed,  and  —  and  —  well  —  board  and  lodging  provided  k'm 
gratis. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  439 

AVhen  he  had  read  the  letter,  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and  said 
to  his  Father  in  heaven,  "  What  am  I  to  do?  " 

There  Avas  no  lake  with  golden  pieces  in  its  bottom,  whence 
a  fish  might  bring  him  a  coin.  Nor  in  all  the  wide  London 
lay  there  one  he  could  claim  as  his,  but  the  groat  in  his  pocket. 

He  rose  with  the  simple  resolution  to  go  and  tell  Falconer. 
He  went.  He  was  not  at  home.  Emboldened  bj  necessity. 
Hugh  left  his  card,  with  the  words  on  it,  ' '  Come  to  me ;  I 
need  jou."  He  then  returned,  packed  a  few  necessaries,  and 
sat  down  to  wait.  liut  he  had  not  sat  five  minutes  before  Fal- 
coner entered. 

"What's  the  matter,  Sutherland,  my  dear  fellow?  You 
haven't  pricked  yourself  with  that  skewer,  have  you?  " 

Hugh  handed  him  the  letter  with  one  hand ;  and  when  he 
had  read  it,  held  out  the  fourpenny  piece  in  the  other  hand, 
to  be  read  likewise.     Falconer  understood  at  once. 

"  Sutherland,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  reproof,  "  it  is  a  shame 
of  you  to  forget  that  men  are  brothers.  Are  not  two  who  come 
out  of  the  heart  of  God,  as  closely  related  as  if  they  had  lain 
in  the  womb  of  one  mother  ?  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  You 
have  suffered  —  I  am  sure  you  have. 

"  I  have  —  a  little,"  Huoh  confessed.  "  I  am  getting  rather 
low  in  fact.     1  haven't  had  quite  enough  to  eat." 

He  said  this  to  excuse  the  tears  which  Falconer's  kindness 
—  not  hunger  —  compelled  from  their  cells. 

"But,"  he  added,  "I  would  have  come  to  you  as  soon  as 
the  fourpence  was  gone ;  or,  at  least,  if  I  hadn't  got  another 
before  I  was  very  hungry  again." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Falconer,  half  angrily.  Then 
pulling  out  his  watch,  "  We  have  two  hours,"  said  he,  "  before 
a  train  starts  for  the  north.      Come  to  my  place." 

Hugh  rose  and  obeyed.  Falconer's  attendant  soon  brought 
them  a  plentiful  supper  from  a  neighboring  shop  :  after  which 
Falconer  got  out  one  of  his  bottles  of  port,  well  known  to  his 
more  intimate  friends  ;  and  Hugh  thought  no  more  about  money 
than  if  he  had  had  his  purse  full.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
anxiety  about  his  mother,  he  would  have  been  happier  than  he 
had  ever  been  in  his  life  before.  For,  crossing  in  the  night 
the  waverini;,  heavincr  morass  of  the  world,  had  he  not  set  his 
foot  upon  one  spot  which  did  not  shake ;  the  summit,  indeed. 


440  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

of  a  mighty  Plutonic  rock,  that  went  down  widening  away  to 
the  very  centre  of  the  earth  ?  As  he  sped  along  in  the  rail- 
way that  night,  the  prophecy  of  thousands  of  years  came  back  : 
"A  man  shall  be  a  hiding-place  from  the  wind,  a  covert  from 
the  tempest,  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land." 
And  he  thought  it  would  be  a  blessed  time  indeed,  when  this 
was  just  what  a  man  was.  And  then  he  thought  of  the  Son 
of  Man,  who,  by  being  such  first,  was  enabling  all  his  friends 
to  be  such  too.  Of  him  Falconer  had  already  learned  this 
"truth  in  the  inward  parts  ;  "  and  had  found,  in  tlio  process  of 
learning  it,  that  this  was  the  true  nature  which  God  had  made 
his  from  the  first,  no  new  thing  superinduced  upon  it.  He 
had  had  but  to  clear  away  the  rubbish  of  worldliness,  which 
more  or  less  buries  the  best  natures  for  a  time,  and  so  to  find 
himself 

After  Hugh  had  eaten  and  drunk,  and  thus  once  more  ex- 
perienced the  divinity  that  lay  in  food  and  wine,  he  went  to 
take  leave  of  his  friends  at  Mrs.  Elton's.  Like  most  invalids, 
Euphra  was  better  in  the  evening ;  she  requested  to  see  him. 
He  found  her  in  bed,  and  much  wasted  since  he  saw  her  last. 
He  could  not  keep  the  tears  from  filling  his  eyes,  for  all  the 
events  of  that  day  had  brought  them  near  the  surface. 

"Do  not  cry,  dear  friend,"  she  said  sweetly.  "  There  is 
no  room  for  me  here  any  more,  and  I  am  sent  for." 

Hugh  could  not  reply.      She  went  on  :  — 

"  I  have  written  to  Mr.  Arnold  about  the  ring,  and  all  you 
did  to  get  it.     Do   you    know  he   is  going  to  marry   Lady 
Emily?" 
■  Still  Hugh  could  not  answer. 

Margaret  stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  the  graceful 
embodiment  of  holy  health,  and,  in  his  sorrow,  he  could  not 
help  feeling  the  beauty  of  her  presence.  Her  lovely  hands 
were  the  servants  of  Euphra,  and  her  light,  firm  feet  moved 
only  in  ministration.  He  felt  that  Euphra  had  room  in  the 
world  while  Margaret  waited  on  her.  It  is  not  house,  and  fire, 
and  plenty  of  servants,  and  all  the  things  that  money  can  pro- 
cure, that  make  a  home  —  not  father  or  mother  or  friends  ;  but 
one  heart  which  will  not  be  weary  of  helping,  will  not  bo 
offended  with  the  petulance  of  sickness,  nor  the  ministrations 
needful   to    weakness ;    this    ' '  entire    affection    hating   nicer 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  441 

hands  "  will  make  a  home  of  a  cave  in  a  rock,  or  a  gipsy's 
tent.      This  Euphra  had  in  Margaret,  and  Hugh  saw  it. 

"I  trust  you  will  find  your  mother  better,  Hugh,"  said 
Euphra. 

"  I  fear  not,"  answered  he. 

"  Well,  Margaret  has  been  teaching  me,  and  I  think  I  have 
learned  it,  that  death  is  not  at  all  such  a  dreadful  thing  as  it 
looks.  I  said  to  her,  '  It  is  easy  for  you,  Margaret,  who  are 
so  far  from  death's  door.'  But  she  told  me  that  she  had  been 
all  but  dead  once,  and  that  you  had  saved  her  life  almost  with 
your  own.      0  Hugh  !  she  is  such  a  dear  !  " 

Euphra  smiled  with  ten  times  the  fascination  of  any  of  her 
old  smiles  ;  for  the  soul  of  the  smile  was  love. 

"I  shall  never  see  you  again,  I  dare  say,"  she  went  on. 
"My  heart  thanks  you,  frofti  its  very  depths,  for  your  good- 
ness to  me.  It  has  been  a  thousand  times  more  than  I 
deserve." 

Hugh  kissed  in  silence  the  wasted  hand  held  out  to  him  in 
adieu,  and  departed.  And  the  world  itself  was  a  sad  wander- 
ing star. 

Falconer  had  called  for  him.  They  drove  to  Miss  Talbot's, 
where  Hugh  got  his  "  bag  of  needments,"  and  bade  his  landlady 
good-by  for  a  time.  Falconer  then  accompanied  him  to  th«» 
railway. 

Having  left  him  for  a  moment.  Falconer  rejoined  him,  say- 
ing, "  I  have  your  ticket;"  and  put  him  into  a  first-class 
carriage. 

Hugh  remonstrated.     Falconer  replied  :  — 

"  I  find  this  hulk  of  mine  Avorth  taking  care  of.  You  will 
be  twice  the  good  to  your  mother,  if  you  reach  her  tolerably 
fresh." 

He  stood  by  the  carriage  door,  talking  to  him,  till  the  train 
started ;  walked  alongside  till  it  was  fairly  in  motion  ;  then, 
bidding  him  good-by,  left  in  his  hand  a  little  packet,  which 
Hugh,  opening  it  by  the  light  of  the  lamp,  found  to  consist  of 
a  few  sovereigns  and  a  few  shillings  folded  up  in  a  twenty- 
pound  note. 

I  ought  to  tell  one  other  little  fact,  however.  Just  before 
the  engine  whistled,  Falconer  said  to  Hugh  :  — 

"  Give  me  that  fourpenny  piece,  you  brave  old  fellow  !  " 


442  DAVID    ELGIXBROD. 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Hugh.      "  ^Yllat  do  jou  want  it  for?  " 
"  I  am  going  to  make  a  wcdding-jjresent  of  it  to  your  wife 
whoever  she  may  hapnen  to  be.     I  hope  she  will  be  worthy  of 
it." 

Hugh  instantly  thought  within  himself:  — 
"  What  a  wife  Margaret  would  make  to  Falconer  !  " 
The  thought  was  followed  by  a  pang,  keen  and  clear. 
Those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  regarding  the  real  and  the 
ideal  as  essentially  and  therefore  irreconcilably  opposed,  will 
remark  that  I  cannot  have  drawn  the  representation  of  Fal- 
coner faithfully.  Perhaps  the  difficulty  tliey  will  experience 
in  recognizing  its  trutiifulness,  may  spring  from  the  fact  that 
they  themselves  are  unideal  enough  to  belong  to  the  not  small 
class  of  strong-minded  friends  Avhose  chief  care,  in  performing 
the  part  of  the  rock  in  the  weary  land,  is  —  not  to  shelter  you 
imprudently.  They  are  afraid  of  Aveakening  your  constitution 
by  it,  especially  if  it  is  not  strong  to  begin  with  ;  so  if  they  do 
just  take  off  the  edge  of  the  tempest  with  the  sharp  corners 
of  their  sheltering  rock  for  a  moment,  the  next,  they  will 
thrust  you  out  into  the  rain,  to  get  hardy  and  self-denying,  by 
being  wet  to  the  skin  and  Avell  blown  about. 

The  rich  easily  learn  the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  but  are  unapt 
scholars  of  Him  who  is  greater  than  Solomon.  It  is,  on  the 
other  hand,  so  easy  for  the  poor  to  help  each  other,  that  they 
have  little  merit  in  it ;  it  is  no  virtue  —  only  a  beauty.  But 
there  are  a  few  rich,  who,  rivalling  the  poor  in  their  own  pecu- 
liar excellences,  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  in  spite  of 
their  riches  ;  and  then  find  that  by  means  of  their  riches  they 
are  made  rulers  over  many  cities.  She  to  whose  memory  this 
book  ifd  dedicated,  is  —  I  will  not  say  ivas  —  one  of  the  noblest 
of  such. 

There  are  two  ways  of  accounting  for  the  difficulty  which  a 
reader  may  find  in  believing  in  such  a  character :  either  that, 
not  being  poor,  he  has  never  needed  such  a  friend  :  or  that,  be- 
ing rich,  he  has  never  been  such  a  friend. 

Or  if  it  be  that,  being  poor,  he  has  never  found  such  a  friend, 
his  difficulty  is  easy  to  remove  :  — I  have. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  443 

CHAPTER  LXIX. 

DEATH. 

Think  then,  my  soul,  that  Death  is  but  a  groom 
Which  brings  a  Taper  to  the  outward  room. 
Whence  thou  spy'st  first  a  little  glimmering  light; 
And  after  brings  it  nearer  to  thy  sight: 
For  such  approaches  doth  heaven  make  in  death. 

Dk.  Donne. 

Hugh  found  his  mother  even  worse  than  he  had  expected ; 
but  she  rallied  a  little  after  his  arrival. 

In  the  evening  he  wandered  out  in  the  bright  moonlit  snow. 
How  strange  it  was  to  see  all  the  old  forms  with  his  heart  so 
full  of  new  things  !  The  same  hills  rose  about  him,  with  all 
the  lines  of  their  shapes  unchanged  in  seeming.  Yet  they 
were  changing  as  surely  as  himself;  nay,  he  continued  more 
the  same  than  they  ;  for  in  him  the  old  forms  were  folded  up 
in  the  new.  In  the  eyes  of  Him  who  creates  time,  there  is  no 
rest,  but  a  living  sacred  change,  a  journeying  towards  rest.  He 
alone  rests ;  and  he  alone,  in  virtue  of  his  rest,  creates  change. 

He  thought  with  sadness,  how  all  the  haunts  of  his  child- 
hood would  pass  to  others,  who  would  feel  no  love  or  reverence 
for  them;  that  the  house  would  be  the  same,  but  soundinor  with 
new  steps,  and  ringing  with  new  laughter.  A  little  further 
thought,  however,  soon  satisfied  him  that  places  die  as  Avell  as 
their  dwellers ;  that,  by  slow  degrees,  their  forms  are  wiped 
out ;  that  the  new  tastes  obliterate  the  old  fashions ;  and  that 
ere  long  the  very  shape  of  the  house  and  farm  would  be  lapped, 
as  it  were,  about  the  tomb  of  him  who  had  been  the  soul  of  the 
Bhape,  and  would  vanish  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

All  the  old  things  at  home  looked  sad.  The  look  came  from 
this,  that,' though  he  could  sympathize  with  them  and  their 
Btory,  they  could  not  sympathize  with  him,  and  he  suffused 
them  Avith  his  own  sadness.  He  could  find  no  refuge  in  the 
past ;  he  must  go  on  into  the  future. 

His  mother  lingered  for  some  time  without  any  evident 
change.  He  sat  by  her  bedside  the  most  of  the  day.  All  she 
wanted  was  to  have  him  within  reach  of  her  feeble  voice,  that 


444  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

she  miglit,  when  she  pleased,  draw  him  within  touch  of  her 
feeble  hand.     Once  she  said  :  — 

"  My  bo  J,  I  am  going  to  your  father." 

"Yes,  mother,  I  think  you  are,"  Hugh  replied.  "How 
glad  he  will  be  to  see  you  !  " 

"  But  I  shall  leave  you  alone." 

"Mother,  I  love  God." 

The  mother  looked  at  him,  as  only  a  mother  can  look, 
smiled  sweetly,  closed  her  eyes  as  with  the  Aveight  of  her  con- 
tentment, fell  asleep  holding  his  hand,  and  slept  for  hours. 

INIeanwhile,  in  London,  INIargaret  was  watching  Euphra. 
She  was  dying,  and  Margaret  was  the  angel  of  life  watching 
over  her. 

"I  shall  get  rid  of  my  lameness  there,  Margaret,  shall  I 
uot?  "  said  Euphra,  one  day,  half  playfully. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  It  will  be  delightful  to  walk  again  without  pain." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  not  get  rid  of  it  all  at  once,  though." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so?  "  asked  Euphra,  with  some  appear- 
ance of  uneasiness. 

' '  Because,  if  it  is  taken  from  you  before  you  are  quite  will- 
ing to  have  it  as  long  as  God  pleases,  by  and  by  you  will  not  be 
able  to  rest,  till  you  have  asked  for  it  back  again,  that  you 
may  bear  it  for  his  sake." 

"I  am  willing,  Margaret,  I  am  willing.  Only  one  can't 
like  it,  you  know." 

"I  know  that,"  answered  Margaret. 

She  spoke  no  more,  and  Margaret  heard  her  weeping  gently. 
HalC  an  hour  had  passed  away,  when  she  looked  up,  and 
said :  — ■ 

"  Margaret  dear,  I  begin  to  like  my  lameness,  I  think." 

"Why,  dear?" 

"  Why,  just  because  God  made  it,  and  bade  me  bear  it. 
May  I  not  think  it  is  a  mark  on  me  from  His  hand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  Why  do  you  think  it  came  on  me?" 

"To  walk  back  to  Him  with,  dear." 

"  Yes,  yes ;   I  see  it  all." 

Until  now,  Margaret  had  not  known  to  what  a  degree  the 
lameness  of  Euphra  had  troubled  her.     That  her  pretty  ankle 


DAVID    ELGINB3,0D.  445 

should  be  deformed,  and  ber  light  foot  able  only  to  limp,  had 
been  a  source  of  real  distress  to  her,  even  in  the  midst  of  flir 
deeper. 

The  days  passed  on,  and  every  day  she  grew  weaker.  She 
did  not  suffer  much,  but  nothing  seemed  to  do  her  good.  Mrs. 
Elton  was  kindness  itself.  Harry  was  in  dreadful  distress. 
He  haunted  her  room,  creeping  in  whenever  he  had  a  chance, 
and  sitting  in  corners  out  of  the  way.  Eaphra  liked  to  have 
him  near  her.  She  seldom  spoke  to  him,  or  to  any  one  but 
Margaret,  for  Margaret  alone  could  hear  with  ease  what  she 
said.  But  now  and  then  she  would  motion  him  to  her  bedside, 
and  say,  —  it  was  always  the  same  :  — 

"  Harrj,  dear,  be  good." 

"I  will;  indeed  I  will,  dear  Euphra,"  was  still  Harry's 
reply. 

Once,  expressing  to  Margaret  her  regret  that  she  should  be 
such  a  ti'ouble  to  her,  she  said  :  — 

"  You  have  to  do  so  much  for  me  that  I  am  ashamed." 

''  Do  let  me  wash  the  feet  of  one  of  his  disciples,"  Mar- 
garet replied,  gently  expostulating ;  after  which,  Euphra  never 
grumbled  at  her  own  demands  upon  her. 

Again,  one  day,  she  said :  — 

"I  am  not  right  at  all  to-day,  Margaret.  God  can't  love 
me,  I  am  so  hateful." 

"  Don't  measure  God's  mind  by  your  own,  Euphra.  It 
would  be  a  poor  love  that  depended  not  on  itself,  but  on  the 
feelings  of  the  person  loved.  A  crying  baby  turns  away  from 
its  mother's  breast,  but  she  does  not  put  it  away  till  it  stops 
crying.  She  holds  it  closer.  For  my  part,  in  the  worst 
mood  I  am  ever  in,  when  I  don't  feel  I  love  God  at  all,  I  just 
look  up  to  his  love.  I  say  to  him,  '  Look  at  me.  See  what 
state  I  am  in.  Help  me  !  '  Ah  !  you  would  wonder  how  that 
makes  peace.  And  the  love  comes  of  itself;  sometimes  so 
strong,  it  nearly  breaks  my  heart." 

"  But  there  is  a  text  I  don't  like." 

"Take  another,  then." 

"  But  it  will  keep  coming." 

"  Give  it  back  to  God,  and  never  mind  it." 

"  But  would  that  be  right?  " 

"  One  day,  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  so  high,  I  couldn't  eat 


446  DAVID    ELGINIiROD. 

my  porridge,  and  sat  looking  at  it.  '  Eat  jour  porridge,' 
said  mj  mother.  'I  don't  want  it,'  I  answered.  'There's 
nothing  else  for  you,'  said  my  mother;  for  she  had  not 
learned  so  much  from  my  father  then,  as  she  did  before  he 
died.  '  Hoots  !  '  said  my  father  —  I  cannot,  dear  Euphra, 
make  his  words  into  English." 

"No,  no,  don't,"  said  Euphra;  I  shall  understand  them 
perfectly." 

"  '  Hoots  !  Janet,  my  woman  !  '  said  my  father.  '  Gie  the 
bairn  a  dish  o'  tay.  Wadna  ye  like  some  tay,  Maggy,  my 
doo?  '  '  Ay,  wad  I,'  said  I.  '  The  parritch  is  guid  eneuch,' 
said  my  mother.  '  Nae  doot  aboot  the  parritch,  woman  ;  it's 
the  bairn's  stamack,  it's  no  the  parritch.'  My  mother  said 
no  more,  but  made  me  a  cup  of  such  nice  tea ;  for  whenever 
she  gave  in,  she  gave  in  quite.  I  drank  it;  and,  half  from 
anxiety  to  please  my  mother,  half  from  reviving  hunger,  at- 
tacked the  porridge  next,  and  ate  it  up.  '  Leuk  at  that  !  ' 
said  my  father.  'Janet,  my  woman,  gie  a  body  the  guid  that 
they  can  tak,'  an'  they'll  sune  tak'  the  guid  that  they  canna. 
Ye're  better  noo,  Maggy,  my  doo ?  '  'I  never  told  him  that  I 
had  taken  the  porridge  too  soon  after  all,  and  had  to  creep 
into  the  wood,  and  be  sick.  But  it  is  all  the  same  for  the 
story." 

Euphra  laughed  a  feeble  but  delighted  laugh,  and  applied 
the  story  for  herself. 

So  the  winter  days  passed  on. 

"  I  wish  I  could  live  till  the  spring,"  said  Euphra.  "I 
should  like  to  see  a  snowdrop  and  a  primrose  again." 

"  Perhaps  you  will,  dear ;  but  you  are  going  into  abetter 
spring.     I  could  almost  envy  you,  Euphra." 

"  But  shall  we  have  spring  there?" 

"I  think  so." 

"  And  spring-flowers  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  shall  —  better  than  here." 

"  But  they  will  not  mean  so  much." 

"  Then  they  won't  be  so  good.  But  I  should  think  they 
would  mean  ever  so  much  more,  and  be  ever  so  much  more 
spring-like.  They  will  be  the  spring-flowers  to  all  winters  in 
one,  1  think." 

Folded  in  the  love  of  this  woman,  anointed  for  her  death  by 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.     •  447 

her  wisdom,  baptized  for  the  new  life  bj  her  sympathy  and  its 
teors,  Euphra  died  in  the  arms  of  Margaret. 

IMarguret  wept,  fell  on  her  knees,  and  gave  God  thanks. 
Mrs.  Elton  was  so  distressed,  that  as  soon  as  the  funeral  was 
over  she  broke  up  her  London  household,  sending  some  of  the 
servants  home  to  the  country,  and  taking  some  to  her  favorite 
watering-place,  to  which  Harry  also  accompanied  her. 

She  hoped  that,  noAV  the  affiiir  of  the  ring  was  cleared  up, 
she  might,  as  soon  as  Hugh  returned,  succeed  in  persuading 
him  to  follow  them  to  Devonshire,  and  resume  his  tutorship. 
This  would  satisfy  her  anxiety  about  Hugh  and  Harry  both. 

Hugh's  mother  died  too,  and  was  buried.  When  he  re- 
turned from  the  grave  which  now  held  both  father  and  mother, 
he  found  a  short  note  from  INIargaret,  telling  him  that  Euphra 
was  gone.  Sorrow  is  easier  to  bear  when  it  comes  upon  sor- 
row ;  but  he  could  not  help  feeling  a  keen  additional  pang, 
when  he  learned  that  she  was  dead  whom  he  had  loved  once, 
and  now  loved  better.  Margarets  note  informed  him  like- 
wise that  Euphra  had  left  a  written  request,  that  her  diamond 
ring  should  be  given  to  him  to  wear  for  her  sake. 

He  prepared  to  leave  the  home  Avhenceall  the  Jiomeness  had 
now  vanished,  except  what  indeed  lingered  in  the  presence  of 
an  old  nurse,  who  had  remained  faithful  to  his  mother  to  the 
last.  The  body  itself  is  of  little  value  after  the  spirit,  the 
love,  is  out  of  it ;  so  the  house  and  all  the  old  thing-s  are  little 
enough,  after  the  loved  ones  are  gone  who  kept  it  alive  and 
made  it  home. 

All  that  Hugh  could  do  for  this  old  nurse  was  to  furnish  a 
cottage  for  her  out  of  his  mother's  furniture,  giving  her  every- 
thing she  liked  best.  Then  he  gathered  the  little  household 
treasures,  the  few  books,  the  few  portraits  and  ornaments,  his 
father's  sword,  and  his  mother's  wedding-ring ;  destroyed  with 
sacred  fire  all  written  papers ;  sold  the  remainder  of  the  fur- 
niture, which  he  would  gladly  have  burnt  too,  and  so  proceeded 
to  take  his  last  departure  from  the  home  of  his  childhood. 


448  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

CHAPTER   LXX. 

NATURE    AND    HER   LADY. 

Dio  Frauen  sind  ein  liebliches  Gehcimniss,  nur  verhullt,  nicht  verschlosoen.  — 
NoVALlS.  —  Morlische  Ansichtm. 

Women  are  a  lovely  mystery  —  veiled,  however,  not  shut  up. 

Her  twilights  were  more  clear  than  oar  mid-day; 
She  dreamt  dovoutlior  than  most  men  use  to  pray. 

Dk.   Donne. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  benefit  that  resulted  to  Hugh  from 
being  thus  made  a  pilgrim  and  a  stranger  in  the  earth  was, 
that  Nature  herself  saw  him,  and  took  him  in.  Hitherto,  as  I 
have  already  said,  Hugh's  acquaintance  with  Nature  had  been 
chiefly  a  second-hand  one,  —  he  knew  friends  of  hers.  Nature 
in  poetry  —  not  in  the  form  of  Thomsonian  or  Cowperian  de- 
scriptions, good  as  they  are,  but  closely  interwoven  with  and 
expository  of  human  thought  and  feeling  —  had  long  been  dear 
to  him.  In  this  form  he  had  believed  that  he  knew  her  so 
well,  as  to  be  able  to  reproduce  the  lineaments  of  her  beloved 
face.  But  now  she  herself  appeared  to  him,  —  the  grand, 
pure,  tender  mother,  ancient  in  years,  yet  ever  young ;  ap  - 
peared  to  him,  not  in  the  mirror  of  a  man's  words,  but  bend- 
ing over  him  from  the  fathomless  bosom  of  the  sky,  from  the 
outspread  arms  of  the  forest-trees,  from  the  silent  judgment  of 
the  everlasting  hills.  She  spoke  to  him  from  the  depths  of 
air,  from  the  winds  that  harp  upon  the  boughs,  and  trumpet 
upon  the  great  caverns,  and  from  the  streams  that  sing  as  they 
go  to  be  lost  in  rest.  She  would  have  shone  upon  him  out  of 
the  eyes  of  her  infants,  the  flowers,  but  they  had  their  faces 
turned  to  her  breast  now,  hiding  from  the  pale  blue  eyes  and 
tlie  freezing  breath  of  old  Winter,  who  was  looking  for  them' 
with  his  face  bent  close  to  their  refus^e.  And  he  felt  that  she 
had  a  power  to  heal  and  to  instruct ;  yea,  that  she  was  a  power 
of  life,  and  could  speak  to  the  heart  and  conscience  mighty 
words  about  God  and  Truth  and  Love. 

For  he  did  not  forsake  his  dead  home  in  haste.  He  lingered 
over  it,  and  roamed  about  its  neighborhood.  Regarding  all 
about  him  with  quiet,  almost  passive  spirit,  he  was  astonished 


DAVID    ELGIXBROD.  449 

to  find  how  his  eyea  opened  to  see  nature  in  the  mass.  Before, 
he  had  beheld  only  portions  and  beauties.  When  or  how  the 
change  passed  upon  him  he  could  not  tell.  But  he  no  longer 
looked  for  a  pretty  eyebrow  or  a  lovely  Lp  on  the  face  of 
Nature  ;  the  soul  of  Nature  looked  out  upon  him  from  the  har- 
mony of  all,  guiding  him  unsouglit  to  the  discovery  of  a 
thousand  separate  delights  ;  while  from  the  expanded  vision 
new  meanings  flashed  upon  him  every  day.  He  beheld  in  the 
great  All  the  expression  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the 
Maker  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth  and  the  sea  and  the 
fountains  of  water.  The  powers  of  the  world  to  come,  that  is, 
the  world  of  unseen  truth  and  ideal  reality,  were  upon  him  in 
the  presence  of  the  world  that  now  is.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  he  felt  at  home  with  nature ;  and  while  he  could  moan 
with  the  wintry  wind,  he  no  longer  sighed  in  the  wintry 
sunshine,  that  foretold,  like  the  far-off  flutter  of  a  herald's 
banner,  the  approach  of  victorious  lady-spring. 

"With  the  sorrow  and  loneliness  of  loss  within  him,  and 
nature  around  him  seeming  to  siiih  for  a  fuller  expression  of 
the  thought  that  throbbed  within  her,  it  is  no  wonder  tbat  the 
form  of  Margaret,  the  gathering  of  the  thousand  forms  of 
nature  into  one  intensity  and  harmony  of  loveliness,  should 
rise  again  upon  the  world  of  his  imagination,  to  set  no  more. 
Father  and  mother  wei-e  gone.  Margaret  remained  behind. 
Nature  lay  around  him  like  a  shining  disk,  that  needed  a 
risible  centre  of  intensest  light,  —  a  shield  of  silver,  that 
needed  but  a  diamond  boss.  Margaret  alone  could  be  that 
centre,  ^ — that  diamond  light-giver;  for  she  alone,  of  all  the 
women  he  knew,  seemed  so  to  drink  of  the  sun's  rays  of  God, 
as  to  radiate  them  forth,  for  very  fulness  upon  the  clouded 
world. 

She  had  dawned  on  him  like  a  sweet  crescent  moon,  hanging 
far-off  in  a  cold  and  low  horizon  :  now,  lifting  his  eyes,  he  saw 
that  same  moon  nearly  at  the  full,  and  high  overhead,  yet 
leaning  dovrn  towards  him  through  the  deep  blue  air,  that 
overflowed  with  her  calm  triumph  of  light.  He  knew  that  he 
loved  her  now.  H"  knew  that  every  place  ho  went  through 
caught  a  glimmer  of  romance  the  moment  he  thought  of  her ; 
that  every  most  trifling  event  that  happened  to  himself  looked 
like  a  piece  of  a  story-book  the  moment  he  thought  of  telling 
29 


450  .     DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

it  to  her.  But  the  growth  of  these  feelings  had  been  gradual, 
—  so  slow  and  gradual,  that  when  he  recognized  them  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  felt  them  from  the  first.  The  fact 
■was,  that  as  soon  as  he  began  to  be  capable  of  loving  ]\Iargarct, 
he  had  begun  to  love  her.  He  had  never  been  able  to  under- 
stand her  till  he  was  driven  into  the  desert.  But  now  that 
Nature  revealed  herself  to  him  full  of  Life,  yea,  of  the  Life 
of  Life,  namely,  of  God  himself,  it  was  natunl  that  he  should 
honor  and  love  that  "  lady  of  her  own;  "  that  he  should  rec- 
ognize Margaret  as  greater  than  himself,  as  nearer  to  the 
heart  of  Nature,  —  yea,  of  God  the  father  of  all.  She  had  been 
one  with  Nature  from  childhood,  and  when  he  began  to  be  one 
with  Nature  too,  he  must  become  one  with  her. 

And  now,  in  absence,  he  began  to  study  tlie  character  of 
her  whom,  in  presence,  he  had  thought  he  knew  perfectly. 
He  soon  found  that  it  was  a  Manoa,  a  golden  city  in  a  land 
of  Paradise,  — too  good  to  be  believed  in,  except  by  him  who 
Avas  blessed  with  the  beholding  of  it.  He  knew  now  that  she 
had  always  understood  what  he  was  only  just  waking  to 
recognize.  And  he  felt  that  the  scholar  had  been  very 
patient  with  the  stupidity  of  the  master,  and  had  drawn  from 
his  lessons  a  nourishment  of  which  he  had  known  nothing 
himself. 

But  dared  he  think  of  marryintr  her,  a  creature  inspired 
with  the  presence  of  the  Sp  rit  of  God,  Avhich  none  but  the 
saints  enjoy,  and  thence  clothed  Avith  a  garment  of  beauty, 
which  her  spix'it  wove  out  of  its  own  loveliness?  She  was 
a  being  to  glorify  any  man  merely  by  granting  him  her 
habitual  presence ;  what,  then,  if  she  gave  her  love  !  She  would 
bring  Avith  her  the  presence  of  God  himself,  for  she  walked 
ever  in  his  light,  and  that  light  clung  to  her  and  radiated  from 
her.  True,  many  young  maidens  must  be  walking  in  the 
sunshine  of  God,  else  whence  the  light  and  loveliness  and 
bloom,  the  smile  and  the  laugh  of  their  youih  ?  But  Margaret 
not  only  walked  in  this  light ;  she  knoAV  it  and  whence  it  came. 
She  looked  up  to  its  Source,  and  it  illuminated  her  face. 

The  silent  girl  of  old  days,  whose  countenance  wore  the 
stillness  of  an  unsunned  pool,  as  she  listened  with  reverence 
to  his  lessons,  had  blossomed  into  the  calm,  stately  Avomau, 
before  whose  presence  he  felt  rebuked,  he  knew  not  Avhy,  upon 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  451 

whose  face  laj  slumbering  thought,  ever  ready  to  wake  into 
life  and  motion.  Dared  he  love  her?  Dared  he  tell  her  that 
he  loved  her  ?  Dared  he,  so  poor,  so  worthless,  seek  for  him- 
self such  a  world's  treasure?  He  mi2;ht  have  known  that 
Avorth  does  not  need  honor ;  that  its  lowliness  is  content  with 
ascribing  it. 

Some  of  mj  readers  may  be  inclined  to  think  that  I  hide, 
for  the  sake  of  my  hero,  —  poor  little  hero,  one  of  God's 
children,  learning  to  walk,  —  an  inevitable  struggle  between 
bis  love  and  his  pride  ;  inasmuch  as,  being  but  a  tutor,  he 
Diight  be  expected  to  think  the  more  of  his  good  fimily,  and 
the*  possibility  of  his  one  day  coming  to  honor  without  the 
drawback  of  having  done  anything  to  merit  it,  a  title  being 
ilmost  withiir  his  grasp  ;  while  Margaret  was  a  ploughman's 
laughter,  an  i  a  lady's  maid.  But,  although  I  know  more 
if  Hugh's  faults  than  I  have  thought  it  at  all  necessary  to^ 
)ring  out  in  my  story,  I  protest  that,  had  he  been  capable  of 
giving  the  name  of  love  to  a  feeling  in  whose  presence  pride 
dared  to  speak,  I  should  have  considered  him  unworthy  of  my 
poor  pen.  In  plain  language,  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  cared 
to  write  his  story  at  all. 

He  gathered  together,  as  I  have  said,  the  few  memorials  of 
the  old  ship  gone  down  in  the  quiet  ocean  of  Time  ;  paid  one 
visit  of  sorrowful  gladness  to  his  parent's  grave,  over  Avhicli  he 
raised  no  futile  stone,  leaving  it,  like  the  forms  within  it, 
in  the  hands  of  holy  decay  ;  and  took  his  road  —  whither  ? 
To  Margaret's  home  —  to  see  old  Janet ;  and  to  go  once  to  the 
grave  of  his  second  father.  Then  he  would  return  to  the  toil 
and  hunger  and  hope  of  London. 

What  made  Hugh  go  to  Turriepufiit?  His  love  for  Mar- 
garet? No.  A  better  motive  even  than  that, — Repent- 
ance. Better  I  mean  for  Hugh  as  to  the  individual  occasion, 
not  in  itself;  for  love  is  deeper  than  repentance,  seeing  that 
without  love  there  can  be  ijo  repentance.  He  had  repented 
before  ;  but  now  that  he  haunted  in  silence  the  regions  of  the 
past,  the  whole  of  his  history  in  connection  Avith  David  re- 
turned on  him  clear  and  vivid,  as  if  passing  once  again  before 
his  eyes  and  through  his  heart ;  and  he  repented  more  deeply 
still.  Perhaps  hf  was  not  quite  so  much  to  blame  as  he, 
thought  himself.     Perhaps  only  now  was  it  possible  for  the 


452  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

seeds  of  truth,  which  David  had  sown  in  his  heart,  to  show 
themselves  above  the  soil  of  lower,  yet  ministering  cares. 
They  had  needed  to  lie  a  Avinter  long  in  the  earth.  Now  the 
keen  blasts  and  griding  frosts  had  done  their  work,  and  they 
began  to  grow  in  the  tearful  prime.  Sorrow  for  loss  brought 
in  her  train  sorrow  for  wrong,  — a  sister  more  solemn  still,  and 
with  a  deeper  blessing  in  the  voice  of  her  lovi'.g  fiirewell. 
It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  sorrow  is  a  part  of  re- 
pentance. It  is  far  too  good  a  grace  to  come  so  easily.  A 
man  may  repent^  that  is,  think  better  of  it,  and  change  his 
way,  and  be  very  much  of  a  Pharisee  —  I  do  not  say  a  hypo- 
crite —  for  a  long  time  after ;  it  needs  a  saint  to  be  sorrowful. 
Yet  repentance  is  generally  the  road  to  this  sorrow.  And 
now  that  in  the  gracious  time  of  grief,  his  eyesight  purified  by 
tears,  he  entered  one  after  another  all  the  chambers  of  the 
past,  he  humbly  renewed  once  more  his  friendship  with  the 
noble  dead,  and  with  the  homely,  heartful  living.  The  gray- 
headed  man  who  walked  with  God  like  a  cliild,  and  witii  his  fel- 
low-men like  an  elder  brother  who  was  always  forgetting  his 
birthright  and  serving  the  younger ;  the  woman  who  believed 
where  she  could  not  see,  and  loved  where  she  could  not  under- 
stand ;  and  the  maiden  who  was  still  and  lustreless,  because 
she  ever  absorbed  and  seldom  reflected  the  light,  —  all  came 
to  him,  as  if  to  comfort  him  once  more  in  his  loneliness,  when 
his  heart  had  room  for  them,  and  need  of  them  yet  again. 
David  now"  became,  after  his  departure,  yet  more  of  a  father 
to  him  than  before.  For  that  spirit,  which  is  the  true  soul 
of  all  this  body  of  things,  had  begun  to  recall  to  his  mind  the 
words  of  David,  and  so  teach  him  the  things  that  David  knew, 
the  everlasting  realities  of  God.  And  it  seemed  to  him  the 
while,  that  he  heard  David  himself  uttering,  in  his  homely, 
kingly  voice,  whatever  truth  returned  to  him  from  the  echo- 
cave  of  the  past.  Even  when  a  quite  new  thought  arose 
within  him,  it  came  to  him  in  the  voice  of  David,  or  at  least 
with  the  solemn  music  of  his  tones  clinging  about  it  as  the 
murmur  about  the  river's  course.  Experience  had  now 
brought  him  up  to  the  point  where  he  could  begin  to  profit 
by  David's  communion ;  he  needed  the  things  which  David 
could  teach  him ;  and  David  began  forthwith  to  give  them  to 
him. 


DAVID   ELGINBROD.  453 

That  birth  of  nature  ia  his  soul,  which  enabled  him  to 
understand  and  love  Margaret,  helped  him  likewise  to  con- 
template, with  admiration  and  awe,  the  towering  peaks  of 
David's  hopes,  trusts,  and  aspirations.  He  had  taught  the 
ploughman  mathematics,  but  that  ploughman  had  possessed 
in  himself  all  the  essential  elements  of  the  grandeur  of  the  old 
prophets,  glorified  bj  the  faith  which  the  Son  of  Man  did  not 
find  in  the  earth,  but  left  behind  him  to  grow  in  it,  and  which 
had  grown  to  a  noble  growth  of  beaut j  and  strength  in  this 
peasant,  simple  and  patriarchal  in  the  midst  of  a  self-conceited 
age.  And,  oh,  how  good  he  had  been  to  him  !  He  had 
built  a  house  that  he  might  take  him  in  from  the  cold,  and 
make  life  pleasant  to  him,  as  in  the  presence  of  God.  He  had 
given  him  his  heart  every  time  he  gave  him  his  great  manly 
hand.  And  this  man,  this  friend,  this  presence  of  Christ, 
Hugh  had  forsaken,  neglected,  all  but  forgotten.  He  could 
not  go,  and,  like  the  prodigal,  fall  down  before  him,  and  say, 
"Father,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven  and  thee,"  for  that 
heaven  had  taken  him  up  out  of  his  sight.  He  could  only 
weep  instead,  and  bitterly  repent.  Yes  ;  there  was  one  thing 
more  he  could  do.  Janet  still  lived.  He  would  go  to  her, 
and  confess  his  sin,  and  beg  her  forgiveness.  Receivins;  it,  he 
would  be  at  peace.  Pie  knew  David  forgave  him,  whether  he 
confessed  or  not ;  and  that,  if  he  were  alive,  David  would  seek 
his  confession  only  as  the  casting  away  of  the  separation  from 
his  heart,  as  the  banishment  of  the  worldly  spirit,  and  as  the 
natural  sign  by  which  he  might  know  that  Hugh  was  one  with 
him  yet. 

Janet  was  David's  representative  on  earth ;  he  would  go  to 
her. 

So  he  returned,  rich  and  great ;  rich  in  knowing  that  he  was 
the  child  of  Him  to  whom  all  the  gold  mines  belong  ;  and  great 
in  that  humility  which  alone  recognizes  greatness,  and  in  the 
beginnings  of  that  meekness  which  shall  inherit  the  earth. 
No  more  would  he  stunt  his  spiritual  growth  by  self-satisfac- 
tion. No  more  would  he  lay  aside,  in  the  cellars  of  his  mind, 
poor  withered  bulbs  of  opinions,  which,  but  for  the  evil  minis- 
trations of  that  self-satisfaction,  seeking  to  preserve  them  by 
drying  and  salting,  might  have  been  already  bursting  into 
blossoms  of  truth,  of  infinite  loveliness. 


154  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

lie  knew  that  Margaret  thought  far  too  well  of  liim; 
honored  him  greatly  beyond  his  deserts.  He  would  not  allow 
her  to  be  any  longer  thus  deceived.  He  would  tell  her  wha*- 
a  poor  creature  he  was.  But  he  would  say,  too,  that  hi 
hoped  one  day  to  be  worthy  of  her  praise,  that  he  hoped  tc 
grow  to  what  she  thought  him.  If  he  should  fail  in  convinc- 
ing her,  he  would  receive  all  the  honor  she  gave  him  humbly 
as  paid,  not  to  him,  but  to  what  he  ought  to  be.  God  grant  it 
might  be  as  to  his  future  self! 

In  this  mood  he  went  to  Janet. 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

u 
THE  FIR-WOOD  AGAIN. 

Er  stand  vor  der  himmlischen  Jungfrau.  Da  hob  er  den  leichten,  glanzonden 
Sehleier,  und  —  Rosenblutchen  sank  in  seine  Arme.  —  Novalis.  —  Die  Learlinje  zu 
iSais. 

He  stood  before  the  heavenly  Virgin  {his,  the  Goddess  of  Nature).  Then  lifted 
he  the  light,  shining  veil,  and —  Rosebud  {his  old  love)  sank  into  his  arms. 

So  womanly,  so  benigne,  and"so  meek. 

Chaucek.  —  Prol.  to  Leg.  of  Good  Women. 

It  was  with  a  mingling  of  strange  emotions,  that  Hugh  ap- 
proached the  scene  of  those  not  very  old,  and  yet,  to  his  feeling, 
quite  early  memories.  The  dusk  was  begirming  to  gather. 
The  hoar-frost  lay  thick  on  the  ground.  The  pine-trees  stood 
up  in  the  cold,  looking,  in  their  garment  of  spikes,  as  if  the 
frost  had  made  them.  The  rime  on  the  gate  was  unfriendly, 
and  chilled  his  hand.  He  turned  into  the  foot-path.  He  saw 
the  room  David  had  built  for  him.  Its  thatch  was  one  mass  of 
mosses,  whose  colors  were  hidden  now  in  the  cuckoo-fruit  of 
the  frost.  Alas  !  how  Death  had  cast  his  deeper  frost  over  all ; 
for  the  man  was  gone  from  the  hearth  !  But  neither  old  Win- 
ter nor  Skeleton  Death  can  withhold  the  feet  of  the  little  child 
Spring.  She  is  stronger  than  both.  Love  shall  conquer  hate ; 
and  God  will  overcome  sin. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  455 

He  drew  nigh  to  the  dooi-,  trembling.  It  seemed  strange  to 
him  that  his  nerves  only,  and  not  his  mind,  should  feel.  In 
moments  of  unusual  excitement,  it  sometimes  happens  that  the 
only  coi.sciousness  a  strong  man  has  of  emotion  lies  in  an  un- 
wonted physical  vibration,  the  mind  itself  refusing  to  be  dis- 
turbed. It  is,  however,  but  a  seeming  ;  the  emotion  is  so  deep, 
that  consciousness  can  lay  hold  of  its  physical  result  only.  The 
cottage  looked  the  same  as  ever,  only  the  peat-stack  outside 
was  smaller.  In  the  shadowiness  of  the  firs,  the  glimmer  of  a 
fire  was  just  discernible  on  the  kitchen  window.  He  trembled 
so  much  that  he  could  not  enter.  He  would  go  into  the  fir- 
wood  first,  and  see  Margarets  tree,  as  he  always  called  it  in 
his  thoughts  and  dreams. 

Very  pooF  and  stunted  and  meagre  looked  the  fir-trees  of 
Turriepuffit,  after  the  beeches  and  elms  of  Arnstead.  The 
evening  wind  whistled  keen  and  cold  through  their  dry  needles, 
and  made  them  moan,  as  if  because  they  were  fettered,  and 
must  endure  the  winter  in  helpless  patience.  Here  and  there 
amongst  them  rose  the  Titans  of  the  little  forest,  —  the  huge, 
old,  contorted,  wizard-like,  yet  benevolent  beings,  —  the  Scotch 
firs.  Towards  one  of  these  he  bent  his  way.  It  was  the  one 
under  which  he  had  seen  Margaret,  when  he  met  her  first  in 
the  wood,  with  her  whole  soul  lost  in  the  waving  of  its  wind- 
swung,  sun-lighted  top,  floating  about  in  the  sea  of  air  like  a 
golden  nest  for  some  silvery  bird  of  heaven.  To  think  that 
the  young  girl  to  whom  he  had  given  the  primrose  he  had  just 
found,  the  then  first-born  of  the  spring,  should  now  be  the 
queen  of  his  heart !  Her  childish  dream  of  the  angel  haunt- 
ing the  wood  had  been  true,  only  she  was  the  angel  herself 
He  drew  near  the  place.  How  Avell  he  knew  it !  He  seated 
himself,  cold  as  it  was  in  the  February  of  Scotland,  at  the  foot 
of  the  blessed  tree.     He  did  not  know  that  it  was  cold. 

While  he  sat  with  his  eyes  fi.xed  on  the  ground,  a  light  rus- 
tle in  the  fallen  leaves  made  him  raise  them  suddenly.  It  was 
all  winter  and  fallen  leaves  about  him ;  but  he  lifted  his  eyes, 
and  in  his  soul  it  was  summer :  Margaret  stood  before  him 
He  was  not  in  the  least  surprised.  For  how  can  one  wondei 
to  see  before  his  eyes  the  form  of  which  his  soul  is  full  ?  — 
there  is  no  shock.  She  stood  a  little  way  off,  looking  —  as  it 
she  wanted   to  be  sure  before  she  moved  a  step.     She  waJ^ 


456  DAVID   ELGTNBROD. 

dressed  in  a  gray  winsey  gown,  close  to  her  throat  and  wrists. 
She  had  neither  shawl  nor  bonnet.  Her  fine  health  kept  her 
warm,  even  in  winter  wood  at  sundown.  She  looked  just  the 
same;  — at  home  everywhere;  most  at  home  in  nature's  secret 
chamber.  Like  the  genius  of  the  place,  she  made  the  winter 
wood  look  homely.  What  Avere  the  oaks  and  beeches  of  Arn- 
stead  now  ?     Homeliness  and  glory  are  heaven. 

She  came  nearer. 

"  Margai'et !  "   he  murmured,  and  would  have  risen. 

"  No,  no  ;  sit  still,"  she  rejoined,  in  a  pleading  tone.  "  I 
thoiujld  it  was  the  angel  in  the  picture.  Now  I  know  it.  Sit 
still,  dear  Mr.  Sutherland,  one  moment  more." 

Humbled  by  his  sense  of  unworthiness,.  and  a  little  distressed 
that  she  could  so  quietly  reveal  the  depth  of  her  feeling  to- 
wards him,  he  said  :  — 

"Ah,  Margaret!  I  wish  you  would  not  praise  one  so  little 
deserving  it." 

"  Pi'aise  !  "  she  repeated,  with  an  accent  of  wonder.  "I 
praise  you!  No,  Mr.  Sutherland;  that  I  am  not  guilty  of 
Next  to  my  father,  you  made  me  know  and  feel.  And  as  I 
walked  here,  I  was  thinking  of  the  old  times,  and  older  times 
still  ;  and  all  at  once  I  saw  the  very  picture  out  of  the  old 
Bible." 

She  came  close  to  him  now.  He  rose,  trembling,  but  held 
out  no  hand,  uttered  no  greeting. 

"  Margaret,  dare  I  love  you?"  he  faltered. 

She  looked  at  him  with  Avide-open  eyes. 

"  Mc  ?  "  she  said  ;  and  her  eyes  did  not  move  from  his.  A 
slight  rose-flush  bloomed  out  on  her  motionless  face. 

"  Will  you  be  my  wife?  "   he  said,  trembling  yet  more. 

She  made  no  answer,  but  looked  at  him  still,  with  parted 
lips,  motionless. 

"  I  am  very  poor,  Margaret.     I  could  not  marry  now." 

It  was  a  stupid  speech,  but  he  made  it. 

"I  don't  care,"  she  answered,  with  a  voice  like  thinking, 
"  if  you  never  marry  me." 

He  misunderstood  her,  and  turned  cold  to  the  very  heart. 
He  misunderstood  her  stillness.  Her  heart  lay  so  deep,  that  it 
took  a  lono;  time  for  its  feelinfirs  to  reach  and  asjitate  the  sur- 
face.  He  said  no  more,  but  turned  away  with  a  sigh. 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  457 

"  Come  home  to  my  mother,"  she  said. 

He  obeyed  mechanically,  and  walked  in  silence  by  her 
side.  They  reached  the  cottage  and  entered.  Margaret  said, 
"Here  he  is,  mother,"  and  disappeared. 

Janet  was  seated  —  in  her  widow's  mutch,  with  the  plain 
black  ribbon  down  both  sides,  and  round  the  back  —  in  the 
arm-chair  by  the  fii'e,  pondering  on  the  past,  or  gently  dream- 
ing of  him  that  was  gone.  She  turned  her  head.  Sorrow  had 
baptized  her  face  with  a  new  gentleness.  The  tender  expression 
which  had  been  but  occasional  while  her  husband  lived,  was 
almost  constant  now.  She  did  not  recognize  Hugh.  He  saw 
it,  and  it  added   weight  to  his  despair.     He  was  left  outside. 

"  Mother  !  "  he  said,  involuntarily. 

She  started  to  her  feet,  cried,  "My  bairn!  my  bairn !  " 
threw  her  arms  around  him,  and  laid  her  head  on  his  bosom. 
Hugh  sobbed  as  if  his  heart  Avould  break.  Janet  wept ;  but 
her  weeping  was  quiet  as  a  summer  rain.  He  led  her  to  her 
chair,  knelt  by  her  side,  and,  hiding  his  face  in  her  lap  like  a 
child,  faltered  out,  interrupted  by  convulsive  sobs  :  — 

"Forgive  me;  forgive  me.  I  don't  deserve  it,  but  forgive 
me." 

' '  Hoot  awa,  my  bairn  !  my  bonny  man  !  Dinna  greet  that 
gait.  The  Lord  preserve's  !  what  are  ye  greetin'  for  ?  Are 
na  ye  come  hame  to  yer  ain?  Didna  Dawvid  aye  say, 
'  Gie  the  lad  time,  woman.  It's  unco  chaip,  for  the  Lord's  aye 
makin't.  The  best  things  is  aye  the  maistplentifu'.  Gie  the 
lad  time,  my  bonny  woman  !  '  —  didna  he  say  that  ?  Ay,  he 
ca'd  me  his  bonny  woman,  ill  as  I  deserved  it  at  his  ban'. 
An'  it's  no  for  me  to  say  ae  word  agen  you,  Maister  Suther- 
lan',  gin  ye  had  been  a  hantle  waur  nor  a  young,  thocthless  lad 
cudna  Aveel  help  bein'.  An'  noo  ye' re  come  hame,  an'  nothing 
cud  glaidden  my  heart  mair,  'cop'  maybe  the  Maister  himsol' 
was  to  say  to  my  man,  '  Dawvid,  come  furth  !  " 

Hugh  could  make  no  reply.  He  got  hold  of  Margaret's 
wooden  stool,  which  stood  in  its  usual  place,  and  sat  down 
upon  it,  at  the  old  woman's  feet.  She  gazed  in  his  face  for  a 
while,  and  then,  putting  her  arm  round  his  neck,  drew  his  head 
to  her  bosom,  and  fondled  him  as  if  he  had  been  her  own  first- 
born. 

"  But  eh  !    yer  bonnie  face  is  sharp  an'  sma'    to  what  it 


468  DAVID    ELGINBROD. 

used  to  be,  Maister  Sutherlan'.  Idoot  je  hae  come  through  a 
heap  o'  trouble." 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  Hugh. 

■'  Na,  na;  bide  still  a  wee.  I  ken  a'  aboot  it  frae  Maggy. 
An'  Guid  preserve's  !  ye're  clean  perished  wi'  cauld.  Lat 
me  up,  my  bairn." 

Janet  rose  and  made  up  the  fire,  wliich  soon  cast  a  joyful 
glow  throughout  the  room.  The  peat-fire  in  the  little  cottagj 
was  a  good  symbol  of  the  heart  of  its  mistress,  —  it  gave  far 
more  heat  than  light.  And  for  my  part,  dear  as  light  is,  I 
like  heat  better.  She  then  put  on  the  kettle, — or  the  boiler 
I  think  she  called  it,  — saying  :  — 

"I'm  jist  gaen'  to  mak'  ye  a  cup  o'  tay,  Mr.  Sutherlan'. 
It's  the  handiest  thing,  ye  ken.  An  I  doot  ye're  muckle  in 
want  o'  something.  Wad  ye  no  tak'  a  drappy  oot  o'  the 
bottle,  i'  the  mane  time?  " 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Hugh,  who  longed  to  bo  alone,  for  his 
heart  was  cold  as  ice ;  "  I  would  rather  wait  for  the  tea;  but  I 
should  be  glad  to  have  a  good  wash,  after  my  journey." 

"  Come  yer  wa's,  then,  ben  the  hoose.  I'll  jist  gang  an' 
get  a  drappy  o'  hot  water  in  a  decanter.  Bide  ye  still  by  the 
fire." 

Hugh  stood,  and  gazed  into  the  peat-fire.  But  he  saw 
nothing  in  it.  A  light  step  passed  him  several  time?,  but  he 
did  not  heed  it.  The  loveliest  eyes  looked  earnestly  towards 
him  as  they  passed,  but  his  were  not  lifted  to  meet  their  gaze. 

"  Noo,  Maister  Sutherlan',  come  this  way." 

Hugh  was  left  alone  at  length,  in  the  room  where  David  had 
slept,  where  David  had  used  to  pray.  He  fell  on  his  knees, 
and  rose  comforted  by  the  will  of  God.  A  few  things  of  Mar- 
garet's were  about  the  room.  The  dress  he  had  seen  her  in  at 
Mrs.  Elton's' was  hanging  by  the  bed.  Ho  kissed  the  folds  of 
the  garment,  and  said,  "  God's  will  be  done."  He  had  just 
finished  a  hasty  ablution  when  Janet  called  him. 

'■  Come  awa',  Maister  Sutherlan' ;  come  ben  to  yer  ain 
chauraer,"  said  she,  leading  the  way  to  the  room  she  still  callod 
tliQ  study.  Margaret  was  there.  The  room  was  just  as  he 
had  left  it.  A  bright  fire  was  on  the  hearth.  Tea  was  on  the 
table,  with  eggs,  and  oat-cakes,  and  fiour-scons  in  abundance; 


DAVID    ELGINBROD.  459 

for  Janet  had  the  best  she  could  get  for  ]\Iargaret,  Avho  wa? 
only  her  guest  for  a  little  while.  But  Hugh  could  not  eat. 
Janet  looked  distressed,  and  Margaret  glanced  at  him  uneasily, 

"Do  eat  something,  Mr.'  Sutherland,"  said  Margaret. 

Hugh  looked  at  her  involuntarily.  She  did  not  understand 
his  look,  and  it  alarmed  her.     His  countenance  was  changed. 

"What  is  the  matter,  dear  —  Hugh?"  she  said,  rising, 
and  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"•  Hoots  !  lassie,"  broke  in  her  mother  ;  "  are  ye  makin'  love 
till  a  man,  a  gentleman,  afore  my  verra  een  ?  " 

"  He  did  it  first,  mother,"  answered  Margaret,  with  a  smile. 

A  pang  of  hope  shot  through  Hugh's  heart. 

"  Ow  !  that's  the  gait  o't.  is't  ?  The  bairn's  gane  dementit ! 
Ye're  no  eftermerryin'  a  gentleman,  Maggy?     Na,  na,  lass  !  " 

So  saying,  the  old  lady,  rather  crossly^  and  very  impru- 
dently, left  the  room  to  fill  the  teapot  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Do  you  remember  this?  "  said  Margaret,  — who  felt  that 
Hugh  must  have  misunderstood  something  or  other,  —  taking 
from  her  pocket  a  little  book,  and  from  the  book  a  withered 
flower. 

Hugh  saw  that  it  was  like  a  primrose,  and  hoped  against 
hope  that  it  was  the  one  which  he  had  given  to  her,  on  the 
spring  morning  in  the  fir-wood.  Still,  a  feeling  very  diiferent 
from  his  might  have  made  her  preserve  it.  He  must  know  all 
about  it. 

"  Why  did  you  keep  that?  "  he  said. 

"  Because  I  loved  you." 

' '  Loved  me  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Didn't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Why  did  you  say  then,  that  you  didn't  care  if —  if — ?  " 

"  Because  love  is  enough,  Hugh.  —  That  was  why." 


THE  END. 


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Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  mode  4  days  prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


AUG    71978 


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M 


■ir 


'hm  DEC]?)9i 


MjlV  1 4  1979 


FEB  2  6  198(1 


REC.CIR.  mz  3  'S 


JUL    51984 


•IWd(t  FEBgj!  1984 


OCT  J 1  \m 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
FORM  NO.  DD6,  40m,  3/78  BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


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GENERAL  LIBRARY  •  U.C.  BERKELEY 


BDDDTDb=i37 


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